Little Brother
by Meiza
Summary: Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.
1. Praxus

Note: Orn = day, joor = hour. Each joor is 6 hours. Each orn is 2 weeks/14 days/336 hours long. So, 1 orn would be about 56 joors long, divided into a.m. and p.m. with 28 joors each. So when Prowl says 55 hundred joors, what he means is army time for 27 o'clock p.m., shortly before Cybertron's midnight.

Yes, I spent a great deal of time trolling tfwikia, why do you ask?

On, and 1 breem = 8.3 minutes.

Prowl is approximately 23 years old, however that might translate for nigh immortal giant alien robots.

* * *

Ch.1 – Praxus

The war was never supposed to grow this big. It was never supposed to spread this far. It definitely was never supposed to claim so many causalities. Losing soldiers was one thing – still horrible, but at least the mechs and femmes went in knowing the risks. But civilians? Neutrals? Entire _cities_ lost? That was beyond sickening.

"Primus," Ironhide muttered as he scrolled through the information on his data pad again. "Why the frag didin't we see this coming?"

"Either Megatron had been keeping such a tight lid on this that not even our best spies could pry it out, or he woke up yesterday and randomly decided he was in the mood for rampant destruction," Ratchet said, holding his cube of morning energon he had yet to take a sip from. "Frankly, with a mech like him that wouldn't be much of a stretch."

The two friends were sitting at a small table just inside the rec room, mostly empty with the early shift having started and the rest sleeping in as long as they could afford to.

Ironhide shook his head in disbelief as he set the data pad down. He'd read it over four or five times now – the stats, maps, theories, casualties – and it still wasn't sinking in. It was just so…big, senseless, and all at once.

"Ah already knew Megatron was a loose cannon, but Ah never thought he'd resort to something like this." Ironhide said.

"I just want to know _why_," Ratchet said. "The city was neutral, and it could afford to be because it had no military value. If Megatron is going to waste time and resources to not just attack it, but decimate it, then no city can be considered safe anymore. Who's to say he won't do it again on a whim and nothing else?"

"That's what the command meetin's gonna be about, Ah reckon," Ironhide replied. He was about to say more, until a flash of black and white blinked in at the corner of his optics. He quickly turned his head just in time to see their tactician pass by the open rec room door.

"Ah'll catch you later Ratch, Ah gotta go," Ironhide said quickly as he stood, barely remembering to grab his data pad on the way out.

Now, while Ironhide could be a bit rough around the edges, he was easily one of the most congenial and down to Cybertron mechs anyone could have the pleasure of meeting. That being said, no matter how hard he tried he could not bring himself to like Prowl much at all, even though they had been working together since the younger mech joined the team almost a vorn ago. There was no question that his skills were invaluable; his tactical computer was almost godly and there was already talk of him becoming the command staffs youngest officer sooner than later. That side of Prowl Ironhide could acknowledge and respect, even admire. The problem for Ironhide was that Prowl, literally, had no emotions to speak of.

He was professional, but never friendly (or rude), he never got passionate, excited, frustrated, or reacted strongly to anything, and chose to keep his own company rather than emerge from whatever room he'd barricaded himself in and mingle with the rest of the Autobots. Ironhide could appreciate the importance of keeping a calm game face, but he couldn't feel comfortable depending on a mech who did his job but didn't seem particularly care either way how the war ended.

Then again, just because he _acted_ sparkless didn't mean he actually _was_. And learning that one's home city had just been attacked by overwhelming force overnight would affect even the hardest of mechs.

"Prowl, wait!"

The doorwinger paused and half turned to watch Ironhide approach and stop at a respectful distance.

"Ironhide. Do you need anything?" Prowl asked.

Ironhide rubbed the back of his neck. Frag, he wasn't good at this sort of thing. What were you supposed to say to a mech who had just lost his home? Especially when the mech in question was the taciturn _Prowl_?

For lack of a better idea, he started with the obvious.

"Look Prowl, Ah uh, Ah heard about Praxus."

Prowl nodded once and slightly raised his datapad. "Yes, I received the report recently myself. It's unfortunately a bit sketchy now, but hopefully we will be able to learn more once we're on the ground."

"Yeah, about that…that was yer home city, wasn't it?"

Prowl gave Ironhide a long, expressionless look before he answered.

"I was sparked there and raised there, yes, but I moved to Iacon several vorns ago."

"But it was still…aw forget it. Look Prow, we ain't exactly the best of friends, but if you ever want someone to, you know, talk to about this, or just vent, or, anything…there aren't a whole lotta mechs in your position, Prowl. Ah guess Ah'm tryin' to say, Ah'll lend an audio if you ever need it."

Ironhide was graced with another long, disturbingly blank look that Ironhide met. He even managed not to shift uncomfortably under that inscrutable gaze.

"You are volunteering to discuss Praxus with me?" Prowl asked.

"Er, 'discuss' ain't exactly the word fer it, but yeah, pretty much."

Prowl glanced around the empty hallway. Finding it suitably empty, he said to Ironhide "We have a little time before the briefing. Is now a good time for you?"

The Weapons specialist blinked. "What? Now? Here?"

"Why not?"

_Why NOT?? _

Ironhide stared at Prowl. He wanted to say that you don't just do this sort of thing in a half-breem window between meetings while standing around in a random hallway that anyone could just walk in on, and not right now when it took a great deal of pride swallowing on his part to even offer what measly and unpracticed comfort he could offer, and what was Prowl doing blindsiding him like this anyway? Fraggit, he should've just told Jazz to do this, at least that mech would have half and idea of what he was doing–

Outside of Ironhides muddled processors, Prowl had taken his extended silence as a "go ahead, I'm listening!"

Prowl sidled up next to the red mech, and with a few swift key strokes brought up a diagram of the attack site.

"Communications with the city were cut at approximately fifty five hundred joors, indicating the Decepticons had targeted their communications satellites before the main attack, possibly using the satellites as projectiles in the first wave. It would certainly explain some of the larger craters our surveillance satellites have been able to detect. I have reason to believe our not noticing what was happing until this morning indicates that-"

"This isn't what I meant and you know it!" Ironhide snapped, coming out of his stupor of disbelief before his gradually falling jaw could hit the floor.

Prowl started, jerking his attention from his display to the red mech. "You said you wanted to talk about Praxus?"

Ironhide ran a hand down his face and privately cursed Prowls logic-driven, socially retarded CPU that thought 'tactics first, personal never'. But he cycled a breath of air and forced himself calm again. He may be treading outside his comfort zone, but he was asking Prowl to jump right out of it. He might as well give him a bit of leeway for denseness.

"Ah wasn't talkin' about a mini-war briefing. Ah'll get that later at the real thing. Ah was talkin' about _you_."

"Me?" Prowl asked, with a small hint of confusion.

"Prowl, you just – you don't have to pretend this doesn't affect you just because you've got a reputation to live up to. No ones gonna think less 'bout you if you get upset 'bout what happened."

"A neutral city has been attacked." Prowl pointed out reasonably. "Everyone is upset."

"Yeah, but you're the only Praxian here."

Understanding (finally!) dawned on Prowl, his optics widening and his head going back just slightly as Ironhides meaning sunk in.

But mild surprise was swiftly replaced with Prowls usual mask of cool, calm, neutral blankness.

"I appreciate the sentiment, Ironhide, but it is not required. I can still perform my function without being distracted by needless emotions."

"…Needless…emotions…?" Ironhide repeated incredulously.

"Getting overly emotional would only hamper my ability to think this through reasonably and logically, and to react in the most efficient manner," Prowl explained matter-of-factly. "That wouldn't help anyone, least of all any possible survivors. So while I appreciate what you are trying to do for me, it won't be necessary. But thank you."

That done, Prowl turned and continued down the hall, leaving Ironhide to pick up his jaw.

"Wait, that's it??" Ironhide called after him. Prowl halted in his tracks, but didn't turn around.

"That's all you have to say?" Ironhide pressed. "You don't feel anything at all?"

Prowl half turned to look at the slightly horrified Ironhide over his shoulder.

"To allow myself to feel emotional would only impede me," Prowl said coolly. "So I have chosen not to."

Ironhide could only gape in bewilderment at Prowl's retreating back until he disappeared around the corner.

He fisted his hands and stormed off in the opposite direction. It was taking him away from the briefing room Prowl was going to and where he himself needed to be soon, but Ironhide was going to take the long way there; partly to give himself time to calm down, mostly to avoid seeing Prowl until he wasn't tempted to punch the doorwinger in the face.

'_Fragging sparkless battle drone pit-spawn of Unicorn.' _Ironhidefumed to himself as he stalked down the hall_. 'Why did I even bother?!'_

"Lemme guess: Prowls got your circuits twisted in a bunch again?"

Ironhide stopped and looked to the grinning mech leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed and looking far too amused for his own good. Ironhide scowled.

"You wouldn't be jokin' if you talked to the blasted mech for more than half a breem, Jazz." Ironhide said. The visored mech shrugged.

"Ya gotta understand, Prowls an intensely private mech. He ain't about to open up to just anybody, good intentions or not. Giving him a little time and space is the best anyone can do for him right now."

Ironhide scoffed. "Since when are you the Prowl expert? You've only been with us for half a vorn now."

"Yes, but it's been a very good half-vorn," Jazz countered cheerfully. Ironhide rolled his optics at the younger mech.

"Yer giving him way too much benefit of the doubt," Ironhide warned. "I get 'private'. That mech ain't just 'private.' No living mech can lose an entire home an act like it's nothing, and I don't trust anyone who does to give a frag about my life, or anyone else's on the battle field!"

"There's more t' Prowl than just calculations and logic," Jazz insisted gently. Ironhide made a dismissive motion with his hands.

"Maybe once, but not anymore."

Ironhide continued down the hall, not done cooling down. Jazz watched him go for a few seconds before looking the other way where Prowl had gone. A brief moment of hesitation as he considered, then he followed after Ironhide to talk him down from mechslaughter.

Prowl tried to focus on the data in his hand again, to refresh his memory and go over his quickly prepared presentation in his CPU before he got to the briefing room. Usually, only the command staff would be allowed to sit in, but Prime had called him in to assist because of his abilities in tactical analysis and his familiarity with the city. Prowl was determined to show that his Prime's trust in his ability to perform was not misplaced. However, Ironhides interruption had disrupted his concentration, and he was having trouble picking up his last line of thought.

'_Oh forget it,' _he decided, turning off the display. But with that gone, his encounter with Ironhide insisted on shoving its way to the forefront of his mind. In particular, the aghast expression he had left him with.

Well, it hardly mattered what Ironhide thought of him personally now. He did good work, and he worked hard. He knew that what he did, and his ability to do it well consistently, was what was keeping a great many of the mechs alive through each mounting battle. The reason he was able to help so much, able to _contribute_ so much of himself, was _because_ he could lock away his emotions. If it came at the expense of alienating his teammates because they didn't know how to relate to him, and vice versa, then so be it.

Besides, while the loss of Praxus was certainly a tragedy, Ironhide was vastly over estimating how much Prowl had lost personally. He had left Praxus vorns ago, the very breem he became a legal adult. There was a reason for that, and it was the same reason he never went back, not even to visit. A small voice in the back of his mind that most bot's try to pretend they can't hear fervently hoped that that "reason" had been reduced to rubble as well.

Prowl tried to kill that thought as soon as it surfaced. This was hardly the time to be concerned of long-dead personal matters.

He arrived at the briefing room, which could only be entered by those with clearance (including himself, this one time at least) and the proper pass code.

Prowl finally released his death grip on his data pad and keyed in the pass code with shaky fingers that hadn't stopped trembling since he first received news of Praxus' destruction nearly two joors ago.

oOoOoOo

Praxus had been a mid-sized city, made slightly famous for being the birthplace of innovative frame and model designs, and home to nearly 750,000 Cybertronians. Now there wasn't a building more than two stories high left standing. The bodies have to be left where they fell – there would be time to honor the dead and account for the casualties after they had secured what was left of the living.

Only two orns at most could be spared searching for survivors. Every mech with sills and upgrades suited for the task – sensitive hearing, motion detectors, tracking, excavation – had been called in and sent down to increase the chances of finding trapped survivors. The plan was for teams to separate and sweep through their sections one at a time, and to comm. for a medical team for any survivors they found, for treatment on site if needed, and transportation. Anyone who could still walk under their own power was to be taken straight to the transport after being examined, which would take them to Iacon where the main Autobot HQ was. Prowl himself would be coordinating the teams, since out of everyone he was the most familiar with the city layout. Plus, it gave the added advantage of allowing him to see the city remains up close for himself, observations that could prove to be invaluable later on.

Optimistically, they had hoped to find a few hundred survivors at most.

They had yet to find one.

"Sector Alpha-9 clear," Jazz reported dully. "Found nobody. Proceeding to Alpha-10, last sector of the day."

That it was also the last sector of the search went unsaid.

Prowl had selected Jazz, Hound, and Beachcomber for his team in this sector, which mostly consisted of businesses and development. Not that anyone would have been able to tell. The only difference between the destruction here and the destruction of the residential areas was that there were fewer and higher piles of rubble. Even Beachcomber was having a hard time keeping hopeful of finding anything.

"Hound, Beachcomber, head down that street and sweep for survivors. Follow it around until you come back to the main road and head south. Jazz and I will rendezvous with you there."

"Yes sir." "Right Prowl."

"Jazz, you and I will check the R & D labs to the west. Some of the buildings had special labs or reinforced storage rooms. They could have survived the assault, and protected anyone inside."

"I hope so Prowl."

That had been nearly a joor ago. Jazz and Prowl were scouring opposite sides of the streets, one occasionally calling to the other when they found something promising. The radio had remained silent, which meant everyone else was having the exact same non-luck as they were.

Prowl kept focused on the task, trying to remain as thorough and attentive at the end of the search as he had been in the beginning. He paid less attention to where exactly he was, or rather where it used to be, than on looking for signs of life or possible areas where survivors could have gone for shelter in the aftermath of the attack. So it wasn't until Prowl's pedes crushed down on the remains of a sign saying "-ter of Prax-" the he realized with an unpleasant jolt where his pedes had taken them.

The doorwinger had told himself he would not seek this place out. He told himself there would be nothing left to see, nothing to be gained. It would serve to waste valuable time they couldn't spare.

Yet here he was, standing in the midst of grey and white rubble and twisted metals, the final remains of a mid-sized building, where Prowl had spent the majority of his late youngling vorns.

Prowl stood perfectly still, surrounded by dust and rubble. The buildings remains bore no likeness whatsoever to what they had once been, just piles of rehashed building materials and twisted metals, dust stirring up with the odd gust or Prowls passing. Even the sign he had stepped on was broken into so many pieces, no one would be able to gather them again to see what it once said. This facility had died faceless, and would remain forgotten.

Funny. He really thought he'd feel more at peace than this. Now he just felt…numb.

Prowl turned to walk away. They only had a few more joors of light left in the orn, they had to make the best of them.

*Argh-hm*

Prowl froze.

His doorwings went stiff and they rose in response, taut in anticipation. He himself heard no sound, saw no oddities, but his keenly sensitive panels had picked up _something_ in these desolate remains. Perhaps it was a sound too quiet for his audios to hear, or a brief movement in the dead landscape. He couldn't be sure yet until it –

*Argh-hm*

There it was again, that, that "blip" for wont of a better description for a not-sound only his wide, back mounted sensor panels could detect but not identify. Right now, his sensors were telling him that the "blip" was coming from behind him and to the left.

Prowl turned back around and carefully advanced in that direction, panels up and slowly sweeping back and forth, in and out as they strained to catch the blip again and guide his direction. He kept his acid-pellet rifle at ready with his finger on the trigger, just in case. He didn't know yet what the blip was, and while he wasn't about to call in Jazz so they _both_ could fall into a possible trap, he wasn't about to walk blindly and helplessly into one either.

*Argh-hm*

Prowl carefully followed after the sensor blip of his wings. That the blip wasn't coming at regular intervals was making this more difficult. Sometimes he'd get it three times in a breem, sometimes he'd have to pause and wait for almost two more breems before it came again. He let it guide him left, right, forward, and one time back track when he went too far.

The blip was coming from a fair distance away, at the edge of his sensors capacities actually. If it hadn't been so quiet, if the area hadn't been so completely void of activity, the blip would have been completely swallowed up. As it was, it was standing out like an erratically blinking red light at the bottom of a mine.

*Argh-hm*

Prowl crested a small hill, and realized he was nearly on the other side of the complex's borders. To his left and almost built into the remaining wall at the bottom of the slope, were the remains of the emergency stairwell. What was left wasn't much, the final standing wall was only a little higher than Prowl was, but the other walls had collapsed inward, creating a small shelter with a jaggedly triangular entrance just big enough for a small mech or femme to crawl through.

Prowl felt his spark pulse.

He slid down the slope and edged closer to the stairwell remains. It was small, but if someone had been _right_ there during the initial attack, and stayed there to wait these last couple of orns for rescue…

It wasn't hope he was feeling. It was a logical possibility, albeit a small one, and he was duty bound to check every possibility of there was even a chance of a survivor.

Prowl approached the entrance, knelt down, and peered in.

It wasn't empty.

Sprawled on the crumbling steps laid a small youngling on his side, no more than six or seven vorns old from what Prowl could guess, using one arm as a pillow and the other to clutch a bundle of dirty rags close. He had a frame identical to Prowls, though the chevron was more firmly attached to his helm, a frame design that had been shared by at least 60 or 70 percent of the Praxian population. He was covered in a thin layer of dust, his frame long gone grey in death.

Prowls wings lowered.

Obviously, this dead youngling was not the source of his sensor blip. Odd though, he couldn't see what exactly killed him; he couldn't see any major injuries, or a pool of energon indicative of heavy bleeding. The way he was curled up also looked as though he had lain down here intentionally, rather than dying where he stood like most of the bodies they had seen in this area. Most likely, the youngling had somehow managed to survive the initial attack and came in here for shelter, only to succumb to internal bleeding joors later. He must have passed away while in recharge, waiting for a miracle.

Prowl straightened, but paused and let his hand linger on the shelter turned tomb for a moment longer. By how much did they miss saving this little one? By an orn? A joor? A few breems?

Prowls hand slid away as he took a step back. He had to focus on the fading possibility of actual survivors. There would be time to take account of the dead later. But if nothing else, Prowl hoped this child at least would receive his Last Rites. It was the very least they owed him for coming too late. With a final look back, Prowl turned away, wings raised to find the blip again.

"Argh-hm!"

Prowl just about swallowed his glossa.

Before he even had time to even process the thought, Prowl had whirled back around and dropped to his knees, not daring to believe he had heard – heard! – what he thought he did.

The youngling hadn't moved at all, the dust covering him as undisturbed as before. But Prowl kept watching, his spark pulsing rapidly in his chassis for an entire breem. He didn't even dare to cycle air as he waited for hope to manifest.

And then…

"Argh-hm! Argh-hm!"

The youngling coughed.

Prowl honestly couldn't remember what he did next, but he must have made some kind of sound in his astonishment. The younglings optics on-lined, too dim for comfort, and yet glowing fantastically bright and _alive_. He on-lined them slowly, drowsily, and barely shifted his head down to look to the entrance, and the frozen doorwinger kneeling just outside of it.

The reaction was instantaneous.

The not so dead youngling optics on-lined all the way, and he started flailing away, scrambling back until his back pressed against the wall behind him, knees drawn in close and clutching the rags – no, not just rags, it was an old blanket cleverly knotted to make a crude doll – tight to his chassis, his doorwings trembling and rattling against the wall as he stared at Prowl in silent terror. He struggled to cycle air through his intakes, horrendously clogged after trying to cycle so much dust for two orns, and already Prowl could smell something acrid as dirt and mechanics began to burn from the stress.

Prowl immediately backed up on his knees, tossing his rifle aside and holding his empty hands up. He even lowered his wings and body a little further to make himself appear as non-threatening as possible.

"It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Prowl, I'm here to help."

The youngling stayed still for a few seconds as he continued to trembled, clutching the doll like a lifeline. Prowl couldn't tell if he was believe or not, but remained still and patient as a statue.

Slowly, the youngling relaxed, and crawled tentatively forward, still holding his doll close. Still on his hand and knees, he knelt just inside the entrance and examined Prowl carefully, optics lingering on his doowings the longest. As he passed over the chevron on Prowls helm, he sat back and gently traced a finger over his own chevron.

"That's right. I'm a Praxian, just like you," Prowl said in a quiet voice.

The younglings fingers trembled, but not from fear. He fell to his hand and started to crawl out, but froze and scuttled backwards back in. Prowl's optics widened. Why was he going back in? Did the youngling see something? Prowl hadn't sensed anything with his wings, though, which was even more confusing.

But clarification came quickly, as the dirty youngling lowered us upper body to look up at the sky, scanning around as far as he could as if searching for something.

'_He's checking for Seekers!'_ Prowl realized with a sickening lurch. So, the youngling had seen what had happened. Primus, he wasn't just a survivor, he was an invaluable witness.

Prowl felt vaguely ill. What else had this innocent youngling been forced to see?

The young one finally decided it was clear, and he slowly crawled out, attention divided between the sky and Prowl, who hadn't moved at all this entire time. Slowly, stiffly, the youngling stood to his feet, swaying slightly and putting a hand back on his shelter to steady himself. He looked up at Prowl, and the Tactician could see the last dregs of uncertainty flitting behind those optics.

"I'm here to help," Prowl said. "I have friends, and we're all going to help you. We want to take you someplace safe, where you'll be taken care of."

Still the youngling hesitated. Prowl could have just grabbed him, he was in no state to run or fight back after two orns without energon or decent recharge. But it didn't seem right to just take him. He had been through so much already, lost so much more that Prowl ever did. The very least he owed the youngling was to let him make this choice freely.

Prowl thought for a moment. How to assuage the younglings understandable doubts and fears?

"I promise little one, whatever happens, I won't let anything bad happen to you," he said.

That did it.

The younglings face twisted up, and for a second Prowl was afraid he was about to start crying. He was already trying to think of something to say and figure out what he said wrong, but the youngling was stumbling across the remaining distance between them. His legs gave out, and acting on instanct Prowl shot his arms out to catch him. The youngling fell into Prowl's arms, sobbing silently in his chassis as his body racked with the force of his tears.

Prowl first tensed, not used to physical contact with…anyone, really. Awkwardly, Prowl wrapped his arms a little more securely around the youngling, holding him close.

"It's alright, you're safe now, alright?" he said. The youngling kept his face buried in Prowls chest, but he nodded.

Prowl kept one arm around his back, mindful of the little doorwings, and snaked the other under his knees. He stood in one smooth motion, cradling the crying youngling in his arms, who in turn wrapped his arms around Prowl's neck so he wouldn't have to let go.

"Come on." Prowl said, as he carried the little one up the slope. "Let's get you out of here."

oOoOoOo

"_Jazz, do you copy?"_

"_I copy. What's taking you so long Prowl? Everyone else is already here. I was starting to worry."_

"_You don't need to. Call Ratchet, have him send someone down here as soon as he can."_

"_Did you injure yourself?"_

"_No."_

Behind the visor, Jazz's optics widened in realization.

"_Prowl, did you…?"_

"_Yes. One."_

Jazz broke out in the widest smile his face could handle.

"What's got you all happy all of a sudden?" Hound asked, from where he sat on a piece of broken cinderblock. Jazz was about to answer, until he saw who was coming down the road behind the scout. Jazz's smile turned into a grin.

"Try lookin' behind ya."

Confused, Hound did so, as did Beachcomber. Both their jaws dropped.

Prowl, stoic, emotionless, standoffish Prowl, covered in dust with liberally scratched knees, was coming down the path with a small grey figure curled up in his arms and hugging his neck as Prowl spoke gently to him, wearing the softest expression anyone had ever seen on him. Prowl glanced up at them, and he must have said something because the youngling – a live youngling! – turned his head and shyly peeked at the assembled group with one optic.

Hound and Beachcomber scrambled up and over to him to see the little survivor up close, exclaiming 'Primus!' 'How did you find him?' 'Where was he?' and the like. The little guy's optics widened and he curled up even closer to Prowl, practically melding into his armor as he tried to hide his face again. Prowl shot them the most intense glare he had ever given anyone, fierce enough to stop Hound and Beachcomber in their tracks a good five or six paces away. He glared at them for a few seconds longer, before adjusting his grip on the little youngling and stiffly walking around them.

Jazz grinned as he sent a comm. to the med team.

'_Sparkless my aft,' _he thought, completely unable to stop grinning.

End Ch. 1


	2. Caretaker

**AN**: Oh WOW! Man, if I knew that Baby Blue would be such a review hog, I'd've started this story a long time ago! *beams* Seriously, thank you all so much for the love.

On, and in case anyone wonders about missing members of the Officers meeting…let's just say some guys haven't been promoted, some need to be replaced, and some haven't been recruited yet. It's early yet in the war, after all.

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 10 orns/1 TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/ 1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 2 – Caretaker

As a medic, and especially since becoming Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet has seen a great many things in his medbay. Many wonderful, more terrible, a few miracles, and one or two that were just downright bizarre. But here was a unique case that managed to be all of the above.

It was wonderful that a survivor had been found in the remains of Praxus.

It was terrible that the youngling had lost his home and family.

It was a miracle that he escaped almost entirely unscathed from the destruction.

It was bizarre that-

"Would you please stop staring already?" Prowl asked, his usual almost-monotone tinged with – dare he say it? – _annoyance_.

Ratchet shuttered his optics as he came back to reality, and it was only by experience and iron-will that he managed to keep a straight face.

The little youngling (really little, he couldn't have been more than six or seven vorns), having been declared fit to travel by the field medic on hand, had been brought in personally to the Autobot HQ and Ratchets medbay by the mech who found him – Prowl. Currently, the still-nameless youngling was sitting on the edge of one of the berths, watching Ratchet with optics that seemed too large for his face, giving him an especially endearing appearance of wide-optic innocence. The appearance was compounded by the makeshift "doll" he still held loosely at his side with one arm. Nobody had had the chance to get him cleaned up properly yet, so he was still almost completely covered in ash and dust from the city.

On his other side stood Prowl, as tall as a monochromic sentinel, posture ramrod straight and expression neutral as it always was. It had actually taken Ratchet an extra couple of klicks to notice the younglings free hand being loosely but comfortably held in Prowls own, the little hand almost being entirely swallowed up by the larger.

Ratchet didn't use the word freely, or even out loud, but there was no other way to describe it; the picture was irredeemably _adorable_.

Which, actually, was the very thought that almost forced Ratchets own CPU to lock up as it tried to reconcile the fact that he had managed to use "Prowl" and "adorable" in the same sentence and in all seriousness.

"Sorry Prowl," Ratchet said, the grin still valiantly fighting for its life. "I'm just a little surprised to meet mini-you."

Prowl, ever the humorless one, frowned minutely. The youngling didn't react at all. He just kept intently staring at Ratchet. Okay, it was a little cute at first, but it was starting to get a little creepy. Ratchet wasn't THAT scary looking, was he?

With the intent to ask for his name, Ratchet bent down slightly with a smile to speak to the youngster at his level, hoping to come across as less intimidating.

But when Ratchet moved in closer, the younglings optics widened in alarm and he slide sideways into Prowl, away from Ratchet. His grip on Prowls hand, once loose, tightened with metal bending force.

Ratchet immediately backed away, the youngling not once taking his optics off of him.

"He's not comfortable yet around strangers," Prowl explained simply. "Not even Hound or Beachcomber had been allowed to come too close. The only one he's even moderately comfortable with is Jazz."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Ratchet said dryly. The Special Ops mech practically oozed charisma, and had a special talent for making friends with anyone with a spark pulse. Assuming they weren't a Decepticon who was actively trying to kill him off course, and considering how many scraps he's gotten himself in and out of already, even _that_ was up for debate.

"Don't be afraid, Ratchet only wants to help you," Prowl said to the youngling. "He is not going to hurt you."

Still the youngling pressed against Prowl, pulling his hand closer until his face was half hidden by the appendage. Ratchet took another step back.

"This could be tricky," Ratchet said. He looked at Prowl. "Can I at least get a name for the kid?"

The black and white considered for a moment, before pulling out a datapad from his subspace. He held it down for the dirty youngling, who peeked at it with one optic from behind Prowls large hand.

"Write it out your name for Ratchet, just like we were doing before," Prowl instructed. The younger doorwinger looked up at him, to the data pad, then back up at Prowl, before he finally took the datapad. He laid it flat on his lap, and carefully typed out one long word on it. When he was done, he looked up to Prowl for approval (he nodded curtly) before holding it up for Ratchet too read:

BLUESTREAK

"Bluestreak," Ratchet read aloud. "A good name."

The youngling, now known to be Bluestreak, practically melted with relief at Ratchets approval, doorwings lowering and shoulders falling with released tension. Whatever it was he needed to hear, it would appear Ratchet had more or less managed to give it – not that he had a clear idea of why, exactly, Bluestreak needed to hear...whatever it was.

It didn't escape the medic's notice that he still hadn't let go of Prowls hand.

"So what's with the datapad?" Ratchet asked.

"It's how he communicates," Prowl answered. "As far as we know, he can't talk."

"Can't talk? What do you _mean_ he can't talk?"

"He hasn't spoken once since we found him," Prowl explained. "We've been using a blank datapad to communicate up to this point. The field medic couldn't figure out why without a more thorough examination, but he didn't have the tools to give one. The only thing he could find at all was his clogged intakes."

"The state of a bot's intakes shouldn't have anything to do with his vocal processors," Ratchet mused aloud. "Not unless he's got something else going on."

Ratchet picked up the hand held scanner from the table and adjusted the settings for the patient. Since the youngster had a rather wide radius for his personal space, this would be his best tool for the moment.

But as soon as Bluestreak saw the medical tool in his hand, his optics flashed pale blue in fear as he violently flinched back, and he scrambled backwards onto the table and crawled completely behind Prowl, keeping the adult Praxian between himself and the medic.

The adults stared at him.

"Primus. What does he think I'm going to _do_?" Ratchet wondered, sincerely distressed that he inadvertently kept frightening the young survivor.

"Considering what he may have seen after the city was attacked, many would probably prefer not to know," Prowl said rather darkly.

It took awhile, but the tactician finally managed to coax Bluestreak out from behind him and to sit still long enough for Ratchet to run the necessary scanner. The CMO tried to keep it short for him, but as soon as he felt the light tingle of the scan, Bluestreak went completely rigid and didn't relax until it was over.

Terrified of strangers, scared of unknown tools, apparently can't talk…thank Primus they managed to avoid the rest of the base population on the way to the medbay. Ratchet did want to think what effect a few dozen well meaning mechs crowding around him would have had. Wait a klick…

"Come to think of it, how did you two manage to make it to the medbay without half the army following you?" Ratchet asked, honestly curious.

Prowls one-word answer was explanation enough: "Jazz."

oOoOoOo

_The interesting thing about good news and good stories is that they tended to travel at mind-boggling speeds and spread faster that a mutated case of cosmic rust. Once word got around of a survivor being found, and a little youngling to boot, every mech and his drinking buddy wanted a chance to see him, even if it would only be a glimpse of him coming down the hall. In less than a joor he became symbolic of a ray of light, a small figure of hope in the middle of a horrible tragedy._

_Which is why, when Prowl and everyone came into sight of the Autobot HQ, they all stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of at least fifty if not a hundred mechs milling around pretending they had Important Reasons to loiter there._

"_Wow." Hound commented._

"_Don't any of them have better things to do?" Prowl asked irritably. He felt movement shifting, and he looked down to his left where the youngling had been standing. The dirty youngster, upon seeing the crowd waiting to see him, had started inching behind Prowl like a shield, his grip on his hand tightening further as he tried to hide, his door wings dropping low and his other hand on his chest, the doll held close to his body in the crook of his elbow._

_The four adults watched the youngling try to disappear into Prowls shadow, and then looked up at each other._

"_We can't let him face them all like this," Beachcomber said, speaking what everyone had already thought. "He's already starting to freak out, and I really don't want to stress him out even more."_

"_Indeed." Prowl said. He beckoned Jazz to come closer._

"_Jazz, take Bluestreak in through one of the special entrances for Special Ops, one no one else will think to stake out. The rest of us will just have to wait out here until he's safely in the medbay."_

_Beachcomber peered over to the milling crowd. "I'm not sure even Ratchet would be able to hold them ALL back." He said doubtfully._

_Jazz, Prowl, and Hound all looked at him blankly._

"…_You haven't been to Ratchets medbay yet, have you?" Hound asked slowly._

"_We've got one nice backdoor that'll drop us off a skip away from th' medbay," Jazz broke in. He came over and knelt down by the hiding Bluestreak. When the youngling peeked at him with one optic, Jazz gave him a warm smile._

"_Hey Blue, we're gonna play a little game. We're going t' pretend we're spies on a mission, and we're going t' go through a top secret entrance so we can get to the Prime. Does that sound like fun?"_

_Bluestreak shyly smiled and nodded a little. Jazz's smile grew even bigger._

"_Fantastic. Knew you were an adventurous little kid." Jazz straightened and held out a hand. Bluestreak contemplated for a moment, and then held up his doll for Prowl. It actually took the black and white an extra couple of klicks to realize he was supposed to take it._

"_Don't you want to take that with you?" he asked, honestly puzzled. Bluestreak frowned slightly, shaking the doll a little as if to emphasize that he was serious about passing it over. Prowl slowly took it, holding it by one arm and letting it dangled limply in his hand. But, Bluestreak seemed content that his doll was in safe keeping (as confused as it was) and turned around to take Jazz's still waiting hand with his now free one._

"_Ya know what that means, right?" Jazz asked Prowl with a significant look._

"_Enlighten me," Prowl said flatly._

"'_Kay. He's saying he wants ya to visit him later. He's expectin' ya t' give it back t' him, y'know."_

"_...I see. Still, it's hardly necessary, he doesn't need to use sentimentality to extract a nonverbal promise of meeting me again, or an attempt to trick me into coming down by giving me something to return to him-"_

"_Prowl. Jus' take it."_

"…_Very well then. Though I don't know why he didn't think I wouldn't come see him anyway."_

_Jazz blinked behind his visor, before he grinned._

"_Good. See ya'll in a bit then. C'mon Blue." _

_Jazz gave Hound and Beachcomber a jaunty wave before he led Bluestreak away._

_Or tried to._

_He got about two steps before he was pulled back. "Eh?"_

_The youngling was now stretched out between the trying-to-leave Jazz and the unmovable Prowl, both adults looking slightly confused. Bluestreak looked back at Prowl and tugged on his hand with a slight, disapproving frown, as if to say, 'we're leaving now, hurry up,' as if _he_ was the one responsible for the hold up._

_Hound discreetly took an image capture and added it to his growing "Why I Love This Kid" file._

"_No Bluestreak," Prowl said firmly. "You're the only one going with Jazz. I'm staying here."_

_Bluestreak frowned further, and tugged more insistently on Prowls arm. Prowl raised a brow._

"_No Bluestreak. I can't go, I'm not Special Ops," he explained patiently. "We're making an exception for you because you're young and these are extenuating circumstances, but it's against protocol for Jazz to show me the entrance you're about to use. Having too many unauthorized bot's using the entrance would compromise its security and secrecy. Besides, it's not as if you need me anyway; you're in capable hands with Jazz."_

_Bluestreak dropped Jazz's hand like a hot poker and scuttled back to Prowls side so fast they bumped together with an audible clank._

_Prowl slowly shuttered his optics at the huddled mass of metal that had suddenly magnetized itself to his hip, looking utterly flummoxed. Jazz had to turn around and muffle his laughter in the crook of his elbow. Hound and Beachcomber didn't even bother trying to hide their (loud) amusement. _

"_Okay, maybe I was wrong 'bout Blue giving you the doll as a clever trick t' see ya again." Jazz admitted with a grin threatening to split his face in half. "Guess he just wanted ya t' hold it so he'd have a free hand. Y'know, I'd almost be offended if this wasn't just so cute."_

_Prowl patted Bluestreak on the top of his helm with the awkwardness of someone who vaguely knew they were supposed to do _something_, but weren't quite sure what it was._

_Jazz clapped his hands together, grabbing everyone's attention._

"_Well, that settles it!" he proclaimed cheerfully. "Makin' Blue go through the crowd would be just plain cruel, he won't leave Prowl, and technically Prowl ain't allowed t' go through our Super Special Secret doors 'cos they're, y'know, secret. Which leaves one option."_

"_Create a hologram of line dancing Decepticons and get everyone to look the other way?" Hound guessed._

"_Temptin', but no. Prowl comes with me and Blue, but wears a blindfold so we're not breakin' any rules."_

"_I will do no such thing!"_

oOoOoOo

"I'm still not entirely sure how he talked me into it," Prowl confessed. Bluestreak managed a little smile at the memory, the first real expression Ratchet saw on him other than blankness or fear. As if on impulse, Bluestreak turned and briefly rubbed his chevroned forehead against the back of Prowls hand. Prowl glanced down at him, and his face softened minutely at the sign of affection.

This didn't escape Ratchets notice either.

"Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"Out of curiosity, has Bluestreak let go of your hand since you found him?"

"Only when we've traded hands."

"You're a remarkably patient mech, you know that?"

"Hardly. I was bringing him here anyway. The constant contact didn't take anything out of me but gave comfort to him. I had no logical reason to deny him this."

"Of course. You're just being logical about this, as always."

"Why are you grinning, Ratchet?"

"No reason. By the way, where is Jazz now anyway?"

"Keeping everyone away from here by making them think Bluestreak is in my office, with me. On the other side of the base."

"Heh. Least now I know I won't have to deal with the nosy freaks popping in every half breem for every inane reason they can think of and then some just to grab a peek."

Ratchet read over the results of his initial scan of Bluestreak thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know how he did it, but except for some superficial scratches he's completely fine. Even the clogged intakes aren't so bad, though we need to get those cleaned out and the filters replaced as soon as we can before they create a whole new mess. I'll set up the equipment. Prowl, get him cleaned up."

"Very well, Rat…wait, excuse me?"

Ratchet leveled Prowl a steady look. "Bluestreak may be physically fine, but we've already seen just how uncomfortable he is with just me, to put it mildly. So for now, you're stuck here helping me until Bluestreak says otherwise. Sinks over there; go clean all that dirt off of him, I can't do anything else when he looks like a walking pile of slag, and I'm certainly not going to be able to clean out his intakes without you keeping him calm enough to even let me come anywhere near him."

Well, when Ratchet put it like that, Prowl didn't have any to say against it. He still needed to write up a report of his observations and another for the mission, and to prepare for the command meeting he was invited to sit in (again) later tonight, but Bluestreak took precedence over all that right now.

"Very well then," he said instead. "Come along Bluestreak, let's do what the medic says."

Bluestreak obediently hopped down from the table and trotted along-side Prowl, still hugging his doll.

Ratchet watched the pair appraisingly for several seconds, before turning back to his task of preparing the vacuums and scrubbers to clean out Bluestreaks intakes of every speck of dust that had accumulated over the last couple of orns. Behind him, he could hear Prowl filling up the large sink with diluted solvent solution, a splash as Bluestreak was settled in, then the soft sound of brushes rubbing back and forth against metal. Curious, Ratchet snuck a peek over his shoulder.

Apparently, Bluestreak had decided he didn't want to let go of his doll, even while bathing. Rather than argue the point with more than a cursory warning that it would get wet, Prowl had let him take it into the sink with him. So while Prowl used one of the larger brushes to clean off Bluestreaks back, shoulders, and wings, Bluestreak himself was using a smaller brush (meant for detail work) to wash his doll in the corresponding places, his movement imitating Prowls almost perfectly.

Ratchet discreetly took a few image captures of yet another irredeemably adorable moment.

He took another one of the look on Prowls face when, after over half a breem of scrubbing in the same spot, he finally realized that it wasn't just the ash and dust; Bluestreak, despite his name, was _supposed_ to be grey.

Still, the youngling was clearly most comfortable with Prowl, for reasons many bots probably wouldn't be able to fully understand. Not that Ratchet could blame the young one – he was probably latching onto the closest familiar figure around, even if it was a total stranger. More so, Prowl was demonstrating himself to be remarkably adept at handling the youngling. Granted, he had his awkward moments, and he kept needing hints as to the appropriate reactions, but all in all he was doing better than…well, just about everyone else would have expected, considering his less-than-flattering reputation regarding interpersonal relationships. Even more remarkably, he managed to obtain, and keep, Bluestreaks trust. The only time the youngling seemed able to relax was when he was with Prowl.

Actually…hmm…

oOoOoOo

The officer's meeting was a relatively quick, straight forward affair. It had been dedicated almost entirely to reactions to Praxus, what their next move should be, listening to Prowls presentation of what he had seen and what it had added to earlier hypothesis (which, admittedly, wasn't much, but every little bit counted where military intelligence was concerned), and what could be done to prevent or anticipate future such attacks, if it was even possible.

Optimus Prime, naturally, sat at the head of the table flanked by his two Sub-Commanders, Ultra Magnus on his right and Elita One on his left. On Ultra Magnus' side of the table sat special guest star Prowl and the Head of Special Ops, Sidestep. On Elita's side were Optimus' official 2iC Lockout, CMO Ratchet, and Weapons Specialist Ironhide.

It should be noted that, due to the realities of fighting a war on multiple fronts, Ultra Magnus and Elita One were not actually at the meeting. Instead, they remained at their respective bases and communicated via advanced hologram projectors set up on their respective seats. The holograms had been Hounds brainchild, so it was no surprise that the holograms were so realistic and well done it was easy to forget that the two military leaders were not _actually_ there.

Once the main meeting was finished, it came time to discuss the final outstanding issue: what was to be done with Bluestreak.

"What's the issue?" Lockout asked. "We'll just do what we intended to do in the first place: send him to the Contingent to take care of, since they already have the systems and resources in place. They were already going to take whatever refugees we found in Praxus. That it's only one youngling only makes this easier for them."

There was a very good reason why Bluestreak being sent to Elita's Contingent was considered a foregone conclusion. The Contingent had not started off as a military unit, but as a non-profit organization created by Elita in the early stages of the war dedicated to helping those most vulnerable – femmes and younglings – to escape the fighting and find safe havens in neutral cities. Over time, the organization started teaching the femmes coming through how to fight and escape, in case the war should catch up with them anyways. Eventually, more and more of the femmes started staying on to help with the work, instead of just passing on and through. Over time the organization evolved into a serious fighting force, taking a more active role in protecting the neutrals and turning the traditional weaknesses of the femmes – lack of firepower and pure physical strength – into advantages, concentrating on speed, stealth, infiltration and sabotage.

In short, by sheer necessity Elita's Contingent became masters of Guerilla warfare, and continued to operate largely independent of the main Army.

However, they still stayed true to their original purpose of helping those caught in the crossfire's of the war and protecting the refugee camps for those who had run out of places to go. As such, they had the experience, resources, and contacts needed to help any lost sparks – such as young Bluestreak. Due to the overwhelming percentage of femmes serving under Elita, her force had been colloquially termed the Femme Contingent, which was either met with pride, amusement, or frothing-and-the-mouth fury, depending on who you talked to.

"Unfortunately, that isn't an option anymore, at least for now," Elita said. "Our situation has slightly changed from three orns ago when we decided this. Shockwave has been cracking down in our area, trying to find our base. He's not too close to us yet, but we've already had to evacuate one camp, and a couple of others are on ready alert. Until he passes us by, it's too risky for us to move too much, let alone sneak a youngling in from three city-states away."

Prowl sat up a little straighter at Shockwaves name. It was fairly common knowledge the mech was one of Megatron's most loyal and trusted (well, as trusted as someone like Megatron _could_ trust) officers he had. Unfortunately, that was ALL they knew about him. Unlike Starscream, who practically called attention to himself like a magnet to iron shavings, or Soundwave, who was a constant shadow by his leader, Shockwave was so behind the scenes that they actually have very little information on him. They didn't even know what he looked like! That Elita's Contingent was pinned down by him, while bad in and of itself, could potentially yield fruits of this mysterious officer if her team was able to take advantage of it.

"Is it safe for you to be communicating with us now?" Ultra Magnus asked in slight alarm.

Elita smiled. "This channel has been secured by the best minds using the most cutting edge technology available. This channel is as secure as it can ever get, and at the very least, it won't be touched, let alone hacked, without everyone knowing it."

"How long until it's safe for you to move again?" Optimus asked, leaning slightly forward in his seat.

"Optimistically? A few deca-orns at the very soonest. We can probably take Bluestreak then, but he's still going to need someone to take care of him in the mean time."

"With all due respect, ma'am, we can't very well just keep him here," Prowl pointed out. "A military base is not the place for younglings. He needs to be someplace where he'll be safe."

"Like Praxus was?" Sidestep asked.

That earned him a few horrified looks for his incredible tactlessness.

"Sorry if I offend," Sidestep went on. "But you get my point. After what happened, can we really say any place is safe anymore? If anything, right now the kid's in the safest place on the planet. Might not be the best place, but it's the safest. But if anyone is bursting with ideas of where else he can stay for the next four or five deca-orns, I'm all audio's."

"That wouldn't be the best for him either," Elita put in. "After what he's been through, what he needs most is a sense of consistency, security, and routine. He won't get that if he keeps getting uprooted as we play potshot in placing him in possible havens."

"Our priority, regarding the youngling, should be getting him to a safe, distant place," Lockout put in. "This army shouldn't be expected to waste time and mech-power keeping him comfortable."

"This isn't a matter of Bluestreaks 'comfort', Lockout," Ironhide said icily. "It's about _helpin'_ an orphaned youngling instead of makin' everythin' worse. Bad enough we couldn't save his home 'n family. Least we can do is protect _him_ best we can."

"Obviously, we don't want to bring any more harm to the youngling than what he's already suffered," Lockout said blandly. "But there is only so much we should be willing to do. We're an army, not a day care center."

If Ratchet hadn't been sitting between the two, Ironhide may very well have punched him out of his chair.

"That's enough, Lockout." Optimus broke in firmly. "While you bring up valid points, it doesn't change the facts: the Contingent can't take Bluestreak yet, and since he has nowhere else to go, he has to stay with us, pure and simple. That just leaves the matter of what happens in the meantime."

"If Bluestreak is going to be staying on your base for the immediate future, then the biggest thing to figure out is who's going to be his Caretaker," Ultra Magnus brought up thoughtfully. "You would know better than me, Optimus, but I can't imagine you have a whole lot of mechs with the time, energy, and experience to give Bluestreak the care and attention he needs right now."

"Bluestreak has thus far shown himself to be nothing if not obedient, well-behaved, and eager to please," Prowl brought up. "Yes, he has shown signs of separation anxiety, but he will not be a burden to whoever takes him in."

"Outta curiosity, 'bout how long do you think it'll take ya'll to find a home for him?" Ironhide asked Elita.

The femme tilted her heat a little thoughtfully. "Not too long, I should think. We've already been looking into homes for a pair of brothers that came through here not too long ago, and while none of the families I spoke with couldn't take two at once, they might be more willing to take one. Still, it will also depend on his physical, mental, and emotional well being. Not all homes will be equally ready to care for all types of hurt. Ratchet?"

"Physically, he's fine," the medic answered. "Perfectly healthy 8 vorn old youngling."

Prowls head snapped around. "He can't possibly be eight already, he's too small for his model."

"He's a bit behind on his upgrades, but it's nothing that'll threaten his health right now," Ratchet explained. "Still, I'd prefer if he was caught up as soon as possible."

"That'll have to be a duty for his future foster family to see to," Lockout put in. "We don't have the supplies to spare to do it ourselves right now."

"Prowl, you've spent the most time with him so far, from what I understand," Elita continued, looking at the doorwinger across the table. "What is he like when he talks to you, or to others?"

"He doesn't."

The femme shuttered her optics. "Excuse me?"

"He's not talking. At all." Prowl elaborated. "He can write, but his answers tend to be short and to the point. He might also be having memory problems as well; he could tell me his name, but when I asked him his age or about any family he might have outside of Praxus, he couldn't answer me."

"I only figured out his real age because I knew what to look for," Ratchet confirmed.

Lockout frowned. "How can you be so sure it's an actual memory lapse? It could be your assessment of his "obedient" and "well-behaved" nature is inaccurate, and he's just choosing to not answer. If so, it could be a precursor to less tolerable acts of rebellion or attention seeking antics."

Prowl stiffened in his seat, his wings flaring angrily behind him in an unconscious move to make him look bigger and more threatening, fingers curling slightly on the table even as his expression sharpened into laser-like intensity right on Lockout.

Before Prowl could say anything, Optimus spoke up first.

"I understand you're trying to play the necessary role of Unicrons advocate, Lockout, but you can't make such assumptions without having ever met the youngling." Optimus said, his voice even but with a subtle undercurrent of anger, reflected in the identical harsh glares Lockout was getting from Ultra Magnus and Elita One.

"Optimus Prime is correct, Lockout," Prowl said slowly, his tone conveying volumes of what, exactly, he thought of the mech right then. "Bluestreak has been at my side for several joors now, and while I don't claim that's a long time to get to know anyone, and certainly not enough to fully understand him, I've seen enough to know he is not playing mute must for the sake of it. For whatever reason, he can't talk, and he's suffering from genuine memory lapses. After surviving the total annihilation of his home city and probably spending two orns believing he was the last bot alive in the world, it's incredible he's doing as well as he is. I only wish more of the mechs I knew were half as strong as he is!"

The other mechs, and femme, stared at Prowl, some with slightly open mouths, as the taciturn "walking calculator" gave what was easily the most impassioned speech any of them had ever heard out of him.

Lockout held Prowls gaze for several seconds, lips pressed together angrily. But, he dropped his gaze after a few seconds as he ducked his head in head in humble acknowledgement.

"You're right, Prowl. My apologies, I went too far."

Prowl nodded once stiffly, doorwings lowering slightly but still rigid. The offense had been forgiven, but not forgotten. Infamous reputation aside, it looked like Prowl had already developed a bit of a protective, soft spot for the youngling. The usual-Prowl wouldn't have gotten nearly so upset or demonstrative about it, and it was throwing everyone through a bit of a loop.

Ratchet leaned back in his seat as he watched Prowl, resting his chin on his knuckles, expression serious in contemplation.

Slowly, he smiled.

Ratchet held up a hand. "If I may, Optimus, I'd like to make a Caretaker recommendation based on my observations up to this point."

"Very well, Ratchet," Optimus allowed. "What's your recommendation?"

"Since Bluestreak is going to be staying here for the foreseeable future, he's going to need a Caretaker who spends the majority of his time on-base, is not an officer, and would be able to give him the structure he needs as he starts to emotionally and mentally recover, but without coddling him."

"You got any names?" Sidestep asked.

"Just one: Prowl."

Ratchet patiently waited for everyone's CPU's to catch up with what he just said.

"Are you out of your fragging PROCESSOR?!" Ironhide burst out, looking genuinely horrified. "Bluestreaks might've taken a shine to him fer now, but he's the LAST mech on the planet who should be allowed to take care of a youngling!"

Pause.

"Outside the Decepticons, anyway," he amended.

Sidestep patted Prowls shoulder in mock comfort.

"Don't worry Prowl, I'm sure he's saying that with nothing but love and affection in his spark."

"No offense taken," the Praxian said blandly. "If anything, I'm in full agreement. Ratchet, while I appreciate the show of trust, I don't have the qualities of a proper caretaker, or the time."

"You told me in the medbay just how clingy he is to you already, and you admitted yourself he has separation anxiety," Ratchet reminded him, arms crossed over his chest. "Frankly, after seeing how freaked out he was with _me_, I doubt he'd allow us to assign him to someone else."

"You _do_ spend almost all your time on base, with few exceptions," Optimus noted thoughtfully. "As a tactician, you don't see the front lines as often as most soldiers."

Prowl snapped his head around to stare incredulously at his commander.

"Sir, you can't honestly be considering this!"

"Technically, he's not an officer, so that's already two out of three requirements," Ultra Magnus added, sounding just a little bit too amused for Prowls taste.

"And he's the most 'routine' and 'structured' mech I know," Sidestep added – and he was full out _grinning_, the slagger.

"Am Ah the only one who sees a problem with this??" Ironhide exclaimed. "Look, yer all right that Prowl checks off all the boxes, but the only reason the kid glued himself to Prowl is because he found him first. Prime, let me take care of the kid. At least Ah'll know what Ah'm doin'!"

"I agree with Ironhide," Prowl put in. "I don't know anything about younglings. Ironhide would be a better choice. If not him, then perhaps Jazz. Bluestreak likes him too, and they already seem good together. In fact, just about _anyone_ would be a better choice, within reason."

"Ironhide's an officer, and his duties as such need to come first," Optimus reminded them. "And while I'm sure Jazz would have made a good caretaker, his place in Special Ops gives him a less than consistent schedule. He's gone five or six orns out of ten."

"Even if he wasn't, I wouldn't let you put Bluestreak with him," Sidestep put in candidly. "Jazz's spark would be in the right place, and he'd have a grand time of it, but he'd be too busy being the kid's friend to be his parent."

Prowl shook his head in disbelief that this was actually happening.

Optimus leaned forward until he was resting on one elbow against the table.

"Prowl, you won't be doing this entirely on your own," he said seriously. "I can think of a dozen mechs off the top of my head who, while they can't be Bluestreaks Caretaker, would be more than happy to lend their support and assistance. Believe it or not, you are a great deal more qualified that you're giving yourself credit for. Besides, this isn't a permanent arrangement. It will only have to last for a few deca-orns. You can last that long at least."

"How can you possibly know how qualified I am?" Prowl asked.

Optimus' optics twinkled mischievously.

"Prowl, where exactly is Bluestreak right now?" he asked innocently.

The Praxian stared at him blankly.

"Respectfully sir, you know just as well as I do where he is," he said, sounding honestly confused by the question.

"Refresh my memory," Optimus replied patiently.

Still looking slightly confused, Prowl did so: "He's under the table."

Dead silence.

Almost all at once everyone scooted their chairs back a bit and ducked down to check, the only exceptions being Optimus and Ratchet (Ultra Magnus and Elita were bitterly disappointed to remember that, as holograms, they couldn't _actually_ look under the table like everyone else).

At Prowls feet laid Bluestreak, on his stomach with his pedes up and swaying gently back and forth, smiling and happily drawing and coloring away on a drawing tablet, completely caught up in his art and wholly oblivious to the multiple sets of optics on him. Lying next to him was the now-cleaned knot doll he'd brought with him, the same shade of grey as its owner.

"I don't know if that's cute or just plain bizarre," Sidestep admitted once everyone was sitting back up, Optimus having finished describing the image to his physically absent Sub-Commanders.

"Where did you get the tablet?" Lockout asked, honestly curious. It wasn't like they had a secret storage of toys on hand, after all.

"I borrowed it from Hoist before I came here," Prowl explained. "He's even going to let Bluestreak keep it, since he seems to like it so much and he recently managed to get a brand new one."

"Did you know he was down there this whole time?" Elita asked her bondmate.

"Prowl came early so he could ask my permission to bring him," Optimust replied, and while his mask hid his face, there was no mistaking the bright smile him his optics.

"Bluestreak has a great deal of anxiety about being alone, and I knew he wouldn't cause any problems," Prowl explained reasonably. "It's not as though I did anything that no one else could have."

Optmus and Ratchet exchanged a look. Actually, everyone was exchanging looks. With a sinking feeling, Prowl realized he had somehow managed to seal the deal all on his own.

"I will be taking Ratchets recommendation then," Optimus said. "Prowl, you are to act as Bluestreaks Caretaker until the Contingent is able to take him or finds a foster family for him, whichever happens first. If there is nothing else, this meeting is adjourned."

The officers all stood to leave, Sidestep patting Prowl on the shoulder and mentioning something about sending Jazz down to help out, Ironhide shaking his head at the whole affair and sending pitying looks to the youngling hidden under the table top. Ultra Magnus flickered out of sight as he cut his communication link. In less than a breem, the only ones left were Prowl, Optimus, and Elita.

"Is there something else, Prowl?" the Prime asked.

Prowl hesitated. Elita took the hint.

"If you mechs will excuse me for a few moments," she said, before flickering out of sight as well.

Once they were alone, Prowl leaned forward to rest his weight on his elbows against the table, body language conveying seriousness and gravity, and sent a ping over Optimus' comm. asking for a link. Optimus opened it up, and Prowl wasted no time on preamble.

*Optimus, you and Ratchet know perfectly well that I am…uniquely unsuited for this. Forgive me if I'm being too forward, but why are the two of you pushing so hard for this?*

*Your 'unique unsuitability,' as you so put it, doesn't change the other facts,* Optimus said. *Be honest Prowl, and forget facts and logic; do you believe that Bluestreak would be willing to accept anyone else at this point?*

Prowl was silent.

*I'm not doing this simply because it's what Bluestreak wants, but because I truly believe you are the best choice for this, whatever your personal evaluation is,* Optimus went on kindly. *However, if you truly feel inadequate, or sincerely do not want to do this, say the word and I will assign guardianship to someone else.*

Prowl was silent for a long, long moment.

*I would…prefer not to inconvenience anyone else with what should be my duty, and I would prefer not to upset Bluestreak more than necessary.* he said at last.

Optimus smiled.

"I'll have someone bring a cot to your room tonight then," Optimus said aloud.

Prowl stood. "Thank you sir."

He rapped his knuckles twice against the tabletop. "We're done Bluestreak. It's time to go."

As summoned, the youngling crawled out from under the table, arms full with doll and drawing tablet.

"You did very good Bluestreak," Optimus complimented him warmly. "You were very well behaved."

Bluestreak smiled a little in thanks and hid shyly half behind Prowl. The tactician placed a hand between his doorwings and led him out of the room, letting the door shut automatically behind them.

Optimus leaned back in his seat and patiently waited.

Almost half a breem later, Elita flickered back into existence.

"So, will he do it?" was the first question she asked.

"He finally agreed to it."

Elita frowned lightly in concern. "Optimus, are you sure this is such a good idea? He did protest quite a bit about taking Bluestreak."

"It's not that Prowl doesn't want to do it, it's that he's not sure if he can," Optimus said. "Prowl is used to working with calculations and probabilities he can plan around. Now he has so many uncertainties about what he's supposed to do he doesn't know where to start. I'd be more surprised if he didn't protest."

"But don't you think he might have protested a bit too much?" Elita pressed. "Ironhide is right, Bluestreak only attached himself to Prowl because he found him first. It could have just as easily been Jazz, Beachcomber, or Hound. If we make Prowl take Bluestreak when he honestly doesn't want to, then it's not fair to either one of them."

"I've only worked with Prowl for about a vorn now, but it's been enough to learn a little about how he works," Optimus replied. "Believe me, Elita, if Prowl really didn't want to do this, nothing short of Primus awakening and personally telling to do it or be smited on the spot would have made him."

"Or a direct order from you."

"Good thing I never made it a direct order, then. I gave him a chance to back out. He didn't take it."

"Didn't he? Interesting."

"I think this will do the both of them a great deal of good before this is over. Bluestreak is not the only one who could use a little bit of help."

oOoOoOo

Ratchet gathered up all this tools and put everything back for the night. It was late, but no medic worth his coolant left his tools out overnight or allowed his medbay to remain a mess, no matter how chaotic the day had been (and he'd had some doozies).

The last spot he addressed was the sink. Not that Prowl left a mess; the mech was so tidy himself, all Ratchet expected to do was a cursory inspection to make sure everything had been put back in its proper place and the clothes sent to be cleaned.

Except…

Well, this was odd. It seemed that Prowl had forgotten to put the cap back on the bottle of solvent he had used. Odd, Prowl didn't strike him as the type to make such a careless oversight. Annoyingly enough, Ratchet couldn't find the cap anywhere in the sink or the counter. It must have fallen to the floor and rolled under something, but Ratchet wouldn't know until he started rolling equipment around, and he did NOT have the energy for that tonight.

So, Ratchet improvised with a piece of foil and wire to cover the open bottle and set it aside for later. The cap would probably turn up in its own due time.

**AN:** Regarding the tablet…yes, I know there is a real artist tool out there called a tablet (people on deviantart seem to love them), and it seemed to work in the context of the Transformers. Seriously, can anyone really imagine them using paper and crayons?

Just so you know, the idea actually came from greenapplefreak on Deviantart. She made the point with her picture, "Extra Hours." Check it out, it's adorable. Just copy and paste the link (and remove the spaces):

http : // greenapplefreak . deviantart . com / art / Extra - Hours – 124177823

Regarding the origins of the Femme Contingent…it was something I came up with for when I was writing "To Protect What is Precious" (movie-verse) to explain why, exactly, there's an all-femme fighting force in the first place. I liked it so much, I continued it in "Elita One, 28 Times." If you're curious about it, it's explained in more detail in chapter 6, "Playing with Kids".

Reviews are love. Reviews that say more than just 'more please' are even better.


	3. Settling In

**AN**: Holy freaking Primus, I have fanart!! I just about rolled over and died in fangirly squeeness when I found out. Kiwimwi right here on (or Firefly7727 as she's known on deviantart) whipped up an illustration of everybody's favorite scene from chapter two. Check out the link in my profile to see it.

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Orn = 2 weeks/ 1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

* * *

Ch. 3 – Settling In

"Yah serious? You're gonna be his Caretaker?"

"Only for a few deca-orns, until it's safe to send him to the Contingent," Prowl explained. "They're better equipped and have more experience in helping younglings and survivors."

"Well, I bet Blue's glad to hear that, ain't'cha?" Jazz said with a knowing smile to the youngling in question.

Bluestreak nodded vigorously. Currently, he and Jazz where sitting on the floor of Prowl's quarters, playing with Bluestreak's doll and a few other makeshift toys Jazz had improvised out of various knick-knacks from his own quarters. They certainly had plenty of space: Prowl's room was predictably sparse, containing only his berth, a small chest to contain personal belongings, and a small desk with a chair. Even so, the room was only big enough to take seven or eight steps in any one direction – which was standard fair for the regular soldiers of the army, not that the officer rooms were much bigger.

At least as a Specialist (tactics and security) he was allowed to have his own room, rather than having to share a larger one with at least one, if not or two or three other mechs. Just the thought of it was enough to make Prowl cringe. But since the room wasn't that big, he wanted to be sure Bluestreak's cot would be able to fit without being in the way.

"I'm not certain why, though," Prowl said as he walked around the room in measuring steps. "I've never had to care for a youngling before, and everyone knows I'm not the most engaging of mechs. The best I could do is make sure Bluestreak doesn't starve to death. I'm still not sure what made Sidestep take Ratchets side; he barely even knows me."

"Mech's got good instincts, what can I say?" Jazz said about his mentor, amusing Bluestreak by tossing up and rolling around a large green marble on his hands and arms. "Besides, if ya can keep Blue online and healthy, it'll already be a lot better than some other creators out there."

"That doesn't mean that I should-"

Prowl wanted to make Jazz understand just how illogical a choice he was, but never got the chance.

"Relax Prowl, you'll do fine, yer just a bit nervous 'cos you've never done this before." Jazz interrupted in a loud, laughing voice. 'S a normal thing. Hey, Blue, why don't you give it a try? I bet ya got the quick hands to be a pro at this!"

Bluestreak took the offered marble and tried to copy some of the tricks he watched Jazz do, with _extremely_ limited success, dropping the marble with a loud clack every couple of klicks. Even as Jazz kept his full attention on Bluestreak, Prowl found himself receiving a ping from Jazz over the comm. line. Confused and curious, he opened the link.

_//Better be careful what you say in front of the kids,//_ Jazz warned, voice sounding friendly but with an undercurrent of seriousness. //_Keep talkin' like that, it's gonna sound like you don't like him, that you think he's just an obligation you've gotta put up with.//_

_//As his temporary Caretaker, Bluestreak's well-being _is_ my obligation and my duty,//_ Prowl reminded Jazz. //_Personal feelings don't factor into this; I'm only trying to state the facts of the matter.//_

_//And you gotta understand, Prowl, not everyone speaks logic as fluent as you do,//_ Jazz answered back. //_Maybe you're only tryin' t' state the facts like ya usually do, but to Bluestreak, it's gonna sound like you don't want him around, maybe that you resent having t' take care of him. Trust me, Prowl; for a youngling, knowing you're unwanted is the single worst feeling in the world.//_

Prowl had nothing to say to that.

Bluestreak chose that moment to yawn as widely as his mouth would allow, rubbing one optic with his fist in an attempt to keep his optics on-line, both of them already dimming as his recharge systems tried to kick in.

"Looks like someone's 'bout done for the day." Jazz observed, amusement coloring his voice. "You've had a heck of a long day kid, and it's…wow, almost midnight. How didja stay awake for this long?"

"By refusing to recharge here alone while I attended the meeting, that's how," Prowl answered. He stopped, and then looked at the visored mech in honest confusion.

"Jazz, just what are you doing in my quarters in the first place?"

Jazz pointed to the folded up cot leaning against the wall. "Brought that in for Blue and forgot t' leave."

"…Oh. So long as you're here, help me set it up. I've never assembled one before."

Jazz pulled himself up from the floor, excusing himself to the fast-fading Bluestreak before helping Prowl unfold the cot and set it up against the wall opposite to the one Prowl's berth lined. The two worked silently for several moments as they worked with the theoretically-simple procedure.

"Hey Prowl, did Praxus have a thing where the scientist or whatever lived on-site with their families?"

Prowl looked at the visored mech oddly. "What do you mean exactly?"

"As in, th' families pretty much lived on or next door to whatever lab or facility the scientist was workin' in."

Prowl shook his head. "Of course not. The residential area wasn't more than a joor away, maybe a joor and a half at the furthest edges. There would be no point in having the families so close to the actual labs. It would only waste space and put them in possible danger."

"Figured as much." Jazz said, as the cot legs rattled against the floor in completion. Prowl started to tell Bluestreak it was time for recharge, but stopped. Sometime in the last breem, Bluestreak had lain down and fallen dead asleep right where he had been sitting, hand lightly curled around the marble so it wouldn't roll away.

"Well ain't that precious," Jazz commented with a smile. He went over to the recharging youngling and carefully lifted him up. Bluestreak never even stirred with the handling.

"'S kinda strange, don't'ch think?" Jazz asked as he held the youngling in his arms. "I mean, what was a little guy like Blue doing way out in the R&D district instead of at home in the residential with his family? Th' labs ain't no place for younglings, an' I can't think of why he'd wander all the way out there by himself."

Behind Jazz's back, Prowl froze.

Jazz glanced back at the tactician from the corner of his visor. "Prowl?"

"Perhaps he was following someone, or was trying to find one of his creators," Prowl suggested coolly. "He was alone for an additional two orns after the attack. Who knows what he had been doing in the mean time?"

Jazz turned fully to give Prowl an odd look. "Maybe. But if he was up and wandering, wouldn't one of the search teams have found him sooner?"

"Speculation is pointless now," Prowl said. "We can't possibly know why Bluestreak was found where he was until he's ready to tell us."

"Point taken."

Jazz left shortly afterwards, gathering up his knickknacks and parting with a 'g'night' to them both, even if only Prowl could hear it. The Praxian stood over the slumbering Bluestreak even after Jazz was gone, his CPU running the same tracks over and over again.

Jazz's question…no matter how many times he turned it over in his CPU, he couldn't think of answer that made sense, and that fit with all the other known facts. Bluestreak should have, by all rights, been found in the residential area, like Jazz had said. He couldn't have wandered all the way to the industrial districts all by himself, Bluestreak never made mention or indication he had followed someone or been taken by anyone else, and there was no logical reason for a youngling to already be in the district when the Decepticons attacked in the middle of the night nearly three orns ago.

Except…

Except, Bluestreak HAD been found in the remains of-

No.

That didn't make any sense either. That facility had been shut down vorns before Prowl had left the city, with most of the scientists leaving the city shortly afterward, the entire…affair being declared a failure. Besides, Bluestreak was far too young. That option was simply impossible, there had to be another explanation. Just because Prowl couldn't think of one did not mean it didn't exist.

Prowl could feel a stab of pain as his logic processor tried to overwork itself. He needed to stop and follow his own advice – speculation was completely pointless for tonight. Hopefully, Bluestreak would be able to shed some light in the morning, if he was ready to talk about it. Assuming he could remember that much.

That decided, Prowl dimmed the lights, checked his alarms, and settled down for the night himself. He had to get up early tomorrow, and he needed to get as much recharge as he could in what was left of the night.

oOoOoOo

"…_illegal under Senate Law! If they find out-"_

"_The Senates opinion is irrelevant…war is coming…our cities survival paramount."_

_Interest. Belief. Trust. Safety. Hope._

"…_81% failure rate…compatibilities…debilitating glitches more often than not…no measurable improvement in subjects…not worth it…"_

"…_can't afford to stop…too important to quit now..."_

_Confusion. Frustration. Uncertainty. Trust?_

"…_running out of volunteers…too dangerous, no reversing…"_

"…_prove to the others it's safe. Only way we can continue…"_

"_Safe! …debilitating glitches-! Can't prove it's not…"_

"_Use him."_

"…_if you're sure, my..."_

_Shock. Confusion. Alone. Pain. Fear. Trust? Hope? When…?_

"…_far better than others…minimal adverse side effects, but…enough for now…have to stop."_

"_No. Make it perfect. Don't stop until it is."_

"_Yes, my lord Emirate."_

_Pain. Confusion. Abandoned. Pain. Pain. Isolation. Exhaustion. Pain. Silence. Pain. Pain. Pain pain pain pain-_

oOoOoOo

Prowl woke up to screaming.

In barely a klick he was on his pedes, rifle in hand and battle computer running, processing all incoming transmissions and running through possible escape routes and bunkers he could hide Bluestreak while keeping his wings high and tuned to all enemy movements.

Except that none of that was actually happening.

No alerts, no sirens, no running pedes of mechs scrambling to battle positions, no transmissions flying through the comm. lines with instructions and updates…it was all completely quiet. Prowls sensor panels detected no other presences besides himself and the now awake youngling, optics glowing in the pitch darkness.

"Lights on," Prowl ordered. The room lit up accordingly, and Bluestreak shaded his sensitive optics to the sudden brightness. As expected, the room was still empty. But Bluestreak was sitting up in his cot, wings vibrating with fearful tremors, knees pulled up and doll in a suffocating grip.

"Bluestreak, was that you screaming just now?" Prowl demanded. Bluestreak shrunk away, confirmation enough.

"Did you hear or see anything?" Prowl asked. Something had frightened the youngling, something that could potentially be a threat to them and the base.

Bluestreak kept his face low, almost hiding it in the doll, and shook his head slowly.

"You didn't see anything?" Prowl asked, lowering his rifle slightly but keeping a finger on the trigger, just in case.

Bluestreak nodded.

"Heard nothing?"

Nod.

Prowl frowned. "Then why did…oh. I see."

Of course. It was impossible for the youngling to detect a threat while sleeping that Prowl could not, and the rest of the base was clearly not being attacked. That left only one possibility as to what had alarmed the youngling so badly out of deep recharge.

"Bluestreak, did you have a nightmare?"

Ashamed, the young Praxian nodded minutely, and tried to hide behind his doll.

"You did not do anything wrong," Prowl told him as he subspaced his rifle. "You reacted in an automatic and uncontrollable manner. Now that you know there is nothing here to hurt you, you can rest at ease again. Go back into recharge. Lights off."

Bluestreak lightly gasped as the lights blinked off again, bright blue optics the only remaining source of light. They weren't turning off.

"Bluestreak, there is nothing here or outside that can hurt you," Prowl explained patiently as he sat back down on his berth. "You don't need to stay awake. If you don't go into recharge, you won't have the energy to do anything tomorrow."

Well, technically it would be later today, but that was beside the point.

The twin lights continued shining in the dark, not even moving sideways to lie down. Prowl contemplated this briefly. Clearly, points of logic were not going to work. Bluestreak was still shaken from his nightmare, and while he had no logical reasons to worry, he still insisted on doing so. Perhaps further assurances that he was safe in the event that something did happen were needed.

Not bothering to order the lights back on, Prowl again stood and covered the five steps to Bluestreaks side of the room. The youngling watched him warily, caution turning to confusion when Prowl only bent down to grip the edge of the cot.

To the grey Praxians silent astonishment, Prowl gave him a little ride as he pulled the cot across the floor until it was next to his own berth, with only about a arms length of space between them.

"There. If any Decepticon tries to attack, I'll be right here to protect you." Prowl told him matter-of-factly.

He straightened, but before he could step away Bluestreak grabbed one of his hands and briefly nuzzled the back of it with his forehead in silent thanks.

"Think nothing of it," Prowl told him. "Now go into recharge. I'll watch over you until you do."

Comforted, Bluestreak laid back down again. As promised, Prowl stayed awake beside him until the younglings cycling slowed to the deep, even breath of recharge.

Prowl watched him for a little while longer, thinking.

Bluestreak had screamed. With his _voice_. Obviously his vocal processors worked just fine, and he was further disinclined to think his inability to speak had to do with some sort of processing glitch. Was Bluestreak _choosing_ to be mute? And if so, for what benefit?

Prowl shook his head. More pointless speculations. The most he could do would be to tell Ratchet about this in the morning.

That decided, Prowl was finally able to enter into recharge cycle himself. But he adjusted his sensors, usually attuned to alert him to any indications of approaching danger, to also wake him if Bluestreak started to come out of recharge earlier than anticipated. He would rather be up first so Bluestreak wouldn't have to be alone.

oOoOoOo

Night shift monitor duty was, unequivocally, the most boring, processor numbing duty any bot could possibly have. Granted, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, per say – better than, say, a surprise-attack in the middle of the night – but there was a reason that multiple night shifts were a favorite disciplinary measure for fairly minor if annoying offensives. The more clever bots could usually find some poor unsuspecting dupe to take their shifts for them more often or not, to the annoyance of said 'dupes' after they figured out what had just happened.

'_Note to self: never ever take another bet from Jazz ever again.'_ Cliffjumper thought to himself sourly, slumping in his chair. But his mood immediately got better when he heard the ping of the monitor room door being opened by the mech taking his place for the morning. Glory to Primus almighty, his shift was just about over. He could already hear his recharge berth singing his name.

"Anything to report?" Prowl asked as he came in, as protocol dictated.

"Well, Ratchet forgot he needs to recharge like everyone else does again, and either Mirage has a really bad case of insomnia or he just likes to prowl around at night because he's creepy like that. Other than that, we've had absolutely zero…what is _that_?"

'That' was a small grey and red youngling standing next to Prowl, identical in frame design and holding what looked like a tangled up blanket in his arms, standing just behind and to the side of Prowl, watching Cliffjumper curiously but cautiously.

Insanely, for a moment Cliffjumper honestly thought Prowl didn't know the youngling was there and the kid had just followed him here.

"This is Bluestreak." Prowl asked in the exact same dead pan almost-monotone he always had (and thusly disproving Cliffjumpers short lived theory). "If that's all Cliffjumper, you may go ahead and leave."

Acting as though everything was as normal and routine as it had been yesterday – or, at least as it had been before the attack on Praxus – Prowl came all the way in and settled in the empty seat next to Cliffjumper, logging in and setting up for his turn at monitor duty. Meanwhile, Bluestreak crawled underneath the console and proceeded to amuse himself with a big green marble he'd…where the slag had he been hiding that thing?

"Uh, Prowl?"

"Yes?"

"That's a youngling."

"Yes, I know."

"Shouldn't he be someplace…not here?"

"I've spoken with Optimus. So long as Bluestreak continues to behave himself, we see no issues with him being where ever I am."

"But he…never mind."

With that, Cliffjumper logged out, hopped up, and left the room, pausing with a backwards glance at the surreal image of the kid playing at Prowl's pedes.

'_Okaaaay,' _Cliffjumper thought as the door closed behind him._ 'Since when had Prowl opened up a Daddy Daycare?'_

End Ch. 2


	4. One DecaOrn

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 4 – One Deca-Orn

Bluestreak sat against the wall of the hallway, amusing himself by making his doll walk back and forth in front of him, trying to get the pedes to land where they needed to.

"Well, look who we have here!"

The youngling looked up at the voice, first wary, and then faintly pleased. It was the green mech from before, when he first met Prowl. The mech had been too excited the first time they met, but after he calmed down Bluestreak decided he wasn't so bad, especially when he made the funny holograms for him. He doesn't like him as much as Jazz though. He definitely doesn't like him as much as he likes Prowl. But he's a nice mech, all in all…especially when he remembered not to come too close.

The green mech – his name was Hound, wasn't it? – was smiling as he came over. There was a blue and white mech with him, but he wasn't smiling. Bluestreak decided he already didn't like this one very much.

"Nice to see you again," Hound said as he knelt down beside him at a respectful distance. "Remember me from a couple of orns ago?"

Bluestreak nodded.

"That's great. Let me introduce to my friend, Mirage. Mirage, this is Bluestreak, the youngling I was telling you about."

Mirage inclined his head. "I'm glad to finally meet you. Hound has been talking about you almost non-stop since yesterday."

Bluestreak tilted his head at Mirage. He had a funny way of talking with his voice. Not like Jazz, he was fun to listen to and made Bluestreak want to smile along. Mirage made Bluestreak think of deep blue crystals he wasn't allowed to touch because he might break them. It made him a little bit nervous. He wasn't sure if he was going to like this mech.

While Bluestreak examined the aristocrat, Hound spotted a familiar grey pile of rags on the younglings other side.

"Hey Blue, can I look at your doll for a klick?" Hound asked.

Bluestreak hesitated, but nodded and passed over the doll. Hound had to reach over to grab it, and then held it up, looking it over. While the blanket it have been made from had seen better times, Hound could see that someone had taken great care to make a nice as doll as possible. They had stuffed it with the excess material so it would be softer to hold and made the knots good and tight so it wouldn't unravel, even trying to make the limbs evenly length and symmetrical and taking care to make an actual head. This toy, while improvised, was not hastily crafted.

"This is a nice lookin' doll you have here," Hound said sincerely. "Does he have a name?"

Bluestreak frowned. He reached over and picked up a small data pad Hound hadn't noticed before, hidden besides his legs. He tapped away on it, and then held the screen up for Hound to read.

SHE'S A FEMME. HER NAME IS SILVERSTREAK.

"Silverstreak? That's a pretty name." Hound commented. "Why'd you name her that?"

IT'S HER NAME.

"Well, yes, but what made you pick it?"

Bluestreak tapped the screen, emphasizing the sentence he had already typed, that 'it's her name.'

"Oh, I get it. She named herself, right?"

Bluestreak thought about that for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. Yes, that sounded about right. Silverstreak had never NOT had a name, so he couldn't claim having been the one to name her.

"Did you make this yourself?" Hound asked.

Bluestreak was spared further conversation when the door he had been sitting next to opened. Prowl stepped out, and noticed the green and blue mechs in mild surprise.

"Hey Prowl. We were just keeping Bluestreak company for a bit," Hound said as he straightened.

What Prowl thought of that – good, bad, or indifferent – was, as usual, impossible to read on the tacticians impassive face. The adult Praxian just inclined his head slightly in polite acknowledgement.

"Thank you then. I'm afraid we can't stay, I have a lot of work to do. Come on Bluestreak."

The little doorwinger immediately climbed to his feet and, after taking the doll back from Hound, trotted after Prowl down the hall. Hound waited until they were out of hearing range before turning to Mirage.

"Kid follows him around like a turbo-puppy. Tell me that's not a little bit cute."

"In all honesty, Hound, I can't decide if he's adorable or creepy." Mirage gave Hound a sidelong look. "But I'm probably going to have to go with creepy."

"Creepy? Raj, he's a little kid whose hero-worshipping Prowl. Okay, it's a little weird since this is _Prowl_ we're talking about, but what's so creepy about that?"

"The hero-worshipping I can handle. It's the 'waiting for him outside the waste-disposal room' that I'm having a bit of a problem with."

oOoOoOo

"I appreciate you doing this, Wheeljack. I know you're already in the middle of several projects."

"Hey, no problem Prowl, I'm just happy to help!" the engineer chirped brightly. "Okay Bluestreak, try this one for size. Just let me clip it on, aaaand…there you go. How's it feel?"

Bluestreak examined the magnetic clamp on his arm, specifically measured for his size with a small personal datapad attached and out of the way. The adults watched as he hopped down from the bench and walked around in a circle, letting his doll hang limply by one knotted arm and flapping his arm around like a one-winged bird.

"He seems to like it," Prowl observed.

"If you say so," Wheeljack said. He looked to Prowl. "If you don't mind me asking, are you sure giving him the clip is such a good idea?"

"He's far too young to have his own sub-space, Wheeljack, and he still insists on taking that doll everywhere with him. At least this way he'll have at least one hand free."

"No, I get that. It's just…he's still not talking, isn't he? Isn't this kind of enabling him so he doesn't have to?"

"I'm not a psychologist. I have no idea why he refuses to speak. But I trust he'll start when he's ready. Until then, I want him to have a ready mode of communication if he needs it."

"Whatever you say, Prowl. What does Ratchet say about it, anyway?"

"We've confirmed it has nothing to do with a physical ailment, and we have strong reasons to believe it doesn't trace back to some sort of glitch or an error in programming brought on by injury. Still, Ratchet wants to go through his programming himself in case there is something he may have – don't touch that."

Bluestreak snatched his hand away from something oblong and blinking on the work bench, looking slightly guilty.

"Wow, you're good," Wheeljack complimented.

oOoOoOo

Prowl, currently seated at his desk (covered in various reports and reference materials), looked up as Jazz knocked and entered his quarters.

"Figured I'd find you here," he said. Bluestreak was already up out of his cot where he had been reading and hurried over to say hello to the Special Op with a smile and a hug. Jazz was more than happy to return the favor.

"Hey Blue, good, t' see you again, haven't seen you in a little bit." Jazz said with a smile as he knelt down to Bluestreaks level. "Been good for Prowl?"

A vigorous nod.

"Fantastic. Sorry I can't stay t' play, but I've got a briefing t' get back to."

Bluestreaks smile faded as his wings drooped slightly in disappointment. Jazz frowned slightly in concern.

"Jazz, did you bring the report I asked for?" Prowl asked, not looking up from his charts.

"What? Oh, yeah, here is." Jazz stood and passed the data pad over to the seated mech. "This good?"

Prowl glanced over the contents. "Yes, this is excellent. I appreciate you getting this for me, Jazz. It's a unique case of a Seeker attack pattern Megatron has only used once. It could be helpful to learn why he only used it the one time and never again in spite of its success."

"Hm. Hey Prowl, when was the last time you left your quarters?"

"I refueled this morning, and it's only…" Prowl trailed off as he checked his chromometer. "Hm. I didn't realize it was so late in the orn already."

"Figures. Seriously, Prowl, you need t' take a break already before you're CPU pops from all this thinkin' you're doin'."

"My CPU doesn't 'pop' from too much thinking – that's what it was designed to do." Prowl said in what could almost be mistaken for a dry tone. "Besides, I can't take a break until I've finalized at least five different defensive and counter strikes against Seeker attacks. Megatron controls the skies, and we can't hope to win unless we can meet that edge."

What Prowl expected to happen was for Jazz to try a little longer to talk him into a break, take a hint, and then leave him to his work, as per the usual course.

He was NOT expecting for black hands to wrap themselves under his arms and pull him bodily out of his seat and drag him backwards out the door.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Prowl exclaimed in alarm.

"Staging an intervention, of course," Jazz replied glibly.

Poor Bluestreak watched them go in complete bafflement, torn between alarm, confusion, and minor panic attack. He started running after them, skidded to a halt, ran back to Prowl's desk and hastily gathered up Prowl's datapads before running back after them – they were really important to Prowl, he might want them after Jazz…finished whatever it was he was trying to do with his Caretaker.

Said Caretaker, meanwhile, was trying to figure that out himself.

"Jazz, this is completely unnecessary! I already told you, I don't have time to take a break right now. I don't even need one!"

"Ah, yes you do," Jazz countered. "And if you're really that set against takin' a real break, just keep workin' in the rec room where everyone can see ya, before someone starts another bettin' pool on whether or not you're on-line and/or actually exist."

"I can't work efficiently in the rec room, Jazz. Maybe you can, but I need a quiet room where I won't be interrupted…_like my quarters_."

"Which makes this th' perfect opportunity to expand and explore!"

Even with Jazz's glib (and infuriating) response, Prowl was receiving a ping over his comm. from him…again. As with last time, Prowl opened up the line, though he couldn't help but wonder what Jazz had to say that he didn't want Bluestreak to overhear _this_ time.

_:: Ya do realize that when yer isolating yourself, yer also isolating Bluestreak from everyone else, right? ::_ Jazz asked.

Prowl twisted his head around to stare at him the best he could.

_:: Guess that never occurred t' you. :: _Jazz went on._ :: Believe it or not, Blue's not hidin' from every mech on base who isn't you. If ya won't come out of your quarters for yourself, at least do it for him. Kid's gotta have a chance to socialize and get t' know everyone. It's a healthy part of growin' up, y'know, and he won't learn not t' be afraid of everybody if yer keepin' him away from 'em. ::_

Prowl looked back at the little Praxian following them. The grey youngling was trotting after them, just barely keeping all of Prowls datapads in his arms. Now that Prowl thought about it, he never had considered what it must be like for him, trying to keep himself amused while Prowl was working. He never complained once or tried to take up too much of his time or attention, though he must have been incredibly bored and even lonely as he simply waited for Prowl to be done.

Come to think of it, when was the last time Bluestreak asked for anything, except not to be left alone?

"…Could you at least let go of me, Jazz? I can walk just fine on my own."

"That's the spirit!"

oOoOoOo

A small alert in his systems woke Prowl up to full operational capacity for the third night in a row. Sitting up, it was easy to see why.

Bluestreak, his cot still pulled up next to Prowls berth, was twisting around he made small whimpering noises of distress…the only times Prowl ever heard his voice.

Another nightmare. Every night, a nightmare. After the first couple of nights of waking up to Bluestreaks screaming, Prowl finally took a hint and set up an alert system to wake him up when Bluestreak started showing signs of recharge distress…like now.

Prowl reached over and gently shook Bluestreak awake. The youngling's optics flashed on as he froze still.

"You're having another nightmare," Prowl explained simply. He started to pull his hand away, objective complete, but Bluestreak grabbed the appendage and simply held it close. Prowl could feel the little one's hands trembling. It was enough to keep him from pulling his hand away until Bluestreak had started to calm down.

Last night, after Bluestreak calmed down, Prowl would stay sitting and keep watch over him until Bluestreak fell back into recharge again, just like he did the first night, whether it took a breem or half a joor. Naturally, he expected the same for tonight.

He really needed to learn to stop expecting things where younglings were concerned.

After a long, quiet pause when Prowl was almost certain he'd slip back into recharge, Bluestreak instead sat up, releasing Prowls hand. He sat still for a moment, wringing his hands as he visibly wavered on something only he knew what. Prowl simply waited for him to make his choice.

Finally, slowly, Bluesteak stood up in the space between the beds. He hesitated again, clearly nervous, but patted himself on the chassis before bending down to gently pat the space next to Prowl on his berth, looking at Prowl as if tentatively asking for permission.

"You want to share the berth?" Prowl asked, and he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. It didn't make any sense from his perspective – the additional proximity would add nothing to Bluestreaks safety, and if anything it would impede Prowls ability to defend him, since he would be on the inner side against the wall, and frankly he wasn't comfortable with the close proximity…

At hearing the incredulous tone in Prowls voice, Bluestreak interpreted as a firm 'no' and quickly sat back down on his cot, keeping his optics down and submissive, looking for all the world like a poor kicked turbo-puppy.

The words slipped out of his mouth before Prowl even had time to comprehend what he was saying.

"I never said you couldn't."

Bluestreak immediately looked up, hopeful. Prowl wasn't about to take back what he said, so instead he scooted back and made room for the smaller one on the berth. "I have to warn you, I doubt you'll be very comfortable," he told him.

The grey youngling hardly seemed to care – he was already crawling onto the berth and curling up next to his Caretaker with the earnest trust only a child could have. Within moments he was sound asleep, curled up as closely to the now stiff Prowl as physically possible, with only the squished doll between them.

Well. This wasn't quite what Prowl had been expecting.

Prowl tried to push the youngling off of him, but any attempt to dislodge Bluestreak only made him whimper a little and hold even tighter, as if Prowl was now an oversized stuffed comfort toy. While it may have been a source of comfort and security for Bluestreak, for Prowl it was just plain uncomfortable. There was something…disconcerting about the physical contact. The hand holding, he was fine with. But this was a tad too much for him.

On the other hand, it wasn't…quite as bad as he thought it would be. Having the small warm body curled up to him with so much trust was oddly…well, frankly, Prowl didn't know how to describe the sensation. But it wasn't entirely an unpleasant one.

Either way, there wasn't much to be done except try to lie down and initiate his recharge cycle again, and hope that Bluestreak was a heavy sleeper from here on out. Prowl did so, moving carefully so as not to jostle the resting youngling too much. Just before activating his recharge cycle again, he paused, considered, and then slowly placed a hand around Bluestreaks shoulder.

His arm stayed there the rest of the night, and neither stirred again until morning.

oOoOoOo

Ironhide watched as Prowl took his now usual place at the small table in the corner of the rec. room. He and Bluestreak had become a common sight in that corner, usually staying for a little over a joor when the room was moderately full, before it hit its busiest time in the middle of the orn. While Prowl worked, Bluestreak would read, draw, amuse himself with improvised toys provided by other mechs on base, and (more recently, and slowly more and more so) 'talk' a little with the occasional mech who wandered by.

Right now, as Prowl settled in his seat and spread out his datapads, Bluestreak had deposited his game of the day and was hurrying over to the energon dispenser with two empty cubes. He wasn't holding his doll today (Silverstreak, if he remembered right from what Hound was telling everybody), but he did have his ever present miniature datapad attached to his arm. Ironhide wondered if his leaving his blanket-doll behind said something about the younglings level of comfort in the base, when before you couldn't separate him from his beloved toy with a crowbar and a tub of grease.

"Cube for your thoughts?" Ratchet asked, not even bothering to look up from the medical journal he was reading.

"Mah thoughts aren't worth a cube, Ratch," Ironhide said. "Just wonderin'…how's the kid been doin'?"

"Better than before, not as well as I would like," Ratchet said honestly, glancing up. "He's still not talking, and he's still skittish with most mechs, including me. But at least he's starting to venture out a little, though I don't think he still feels completely secure here."

"So Ah could guess," Ironhide commented.

Bluestreak kept checking over his shoulder at Prowl, as if to reassure himself that he wasn't going anywhere. Prowl, for his part, never even glanced up from drafting his reports. He might as well been living in a soundproof bubble for all the attention he was paying to everything (and everyone) else.

"You'd think he'd at least pretend to be more interested in Bluestreak," Ironhide grumbled as the aforementioned youngling filled up the cubes with energon, standing on tippy-toes to reach the dispenser. "Ah still don't know _what_ possessed ya to think this'd be a good idea."

"Prowl makes a better Caretaker than you're giving him credit for," Ratchet defended mildly. "Talk to anyone else if you don't believe me."

"He's not even _watching_ him! What kind of Caretaker ignores his charges?"

"The kind that knows they don't have to hover over their charges every klick of every breem. Besides, Prowl may not be a particularly affectionate mech, but he's a far cry from being a negligent one."

With two full cubes, Bluestreak stepped back from the dispenser, right into the passing Gears. His back bumped against the minibots side, doorwings rattling with the impact.

"Hey!" Gears exclaimed, and Bluestreak immediately scuttled away, pivoting around to face the grumpy mech with the drone-in-the-headlights looks and nearly spilling the cubes he just filled.

"Watch it kid! You've gotta pay more attention to where you're going before you hurt someone," Gears grumbled, before walking off, muttering something about younglings and clumsiness and no respect, etcetera. Bluestreak stood where he was for a couple of extra klicks, trying to figure out if he was in trouble or not. Figuring he wasn't, he hurried back over to Prowl, careful not to spill either of the cubes.

But Ironhide hadn't been watching Bluestreak. He had been watching Prowl.

The instant Bluestreak bumped into Gears, before the minibot had made any sounds, Prowls head had snapped up and he focused straight on Bluestreak, hands going completely still. Even his doorwings rose slightly with his attention. It wasn't until Gears walked off with nothing more than a cursory grumble that Prowl relaxed and went back to his drafts.

"What did I tell you?" Ratchet asked, sounding just a little bit smug. He went back to reading his medical journal while Ironhide busied himself with picking his jaw off the floor.

oOoOoOo

Wheeljack checked under the table, behind the bench, all the drawers, and lifted up and rearranged his tools and half-done projects for the third time. It was no use – the focusing crystal wasn't magically reappearing on the work table.

Odd. Wheeljack was positive he set it here just this morning. How could he have misplaced it already? Granted, his work area personified 'organized chaos', as Ratchet had oh so lovingly put it one time, but Wheeljack was usually pretty good and remembering where everything was. He definitely would remember something as important as a focusing crystal – he had others, it wasn't like losing one would completely derail his projects, but they were expensive and were getting harder to find, especially the high quality ones he needed.

Oh well. Most likely he had accidently swept it away in another box while cleaning up. He'll probably find it in a couple of deca-orns with the bolts and nuts and wonder to himself how in the name of Primus it ended up there.

oOoOoOo

Sometimes, not having your own subspace got really annoying.

Bluestreak remembered asking Prowl about why everyone but him had their own subspace, and the elder mech had patiently explained that having a private subspace was a big responsibility, and so younglings weren't allowed to have their own until they reached a certain age. They even made it a law, because it was supposed to help protect the younglings from carrying things or collecting things they shouldn't, because they didn't know better.

Bluestreak didn't exactly get it, but that's what Prowl said so it had to be true. He still didn't have any place to put his toys, though.

Ever since he came here, it seemed like almost everyone had been trying to give him a little present, like a toy, or a book file, or a game, or something they just thought he might like. Bluestreak didn't like ALL the presents, but having other mechs wanting to give him something made him feel a little bit special. But it also made him really nervous for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

Well, except for Jazz's presents. He didn't tell anyone because he didn't want to hurt their feelings, but he liked Jazz's presents best – maybe because he brought the toys and played with him.

Prowl didn't give presents, but that's okay, because he got to be with Prowl all the time and Prowl kept him safe. He didn't need anything else.

Speaking of which, Prowl was in recharge right now. The Doctor made him take the morning off as a mini-vacation, but then Prowl stayed awake for a really long time last night to do everything he had meant to do this morning. Bluestreak didn't even know when he went to bed, he himself fell asleep when the 'to do' pile on Prowls desk was still really high. He must be really tired if he hadn't woken up yet, and Bluestreak was determined to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake him up. Which is why he had all his toys out (it's no fun to play the games alone and he didn't feel like reading) and was quietly trying to keep himself occupied.

Eventually though, as younglings often do, he got bored. Prowl hadn't so much as twitched, and Bluestreak resigned himself to maybe rereading his favorite story while he waited for his Caretaker to wake up so they could go to the rec room for a little while.

However, his mish-mash of improvised toys were all still strewn around the floor, and if nothing else, Bluestreak had picked up on how very, very neat and tidy and well kept Prowl was about his quarters, even if he didn't have hardly anything to be messy with.

(The phrase Bluestreak was looking for was 'neat freak,' but he hadn't learned the term yet).

Up until now, for lack of a better idea Bluestreak had been keeping everything shoved under his cot. But as he gathered up his few possessions, he was struck by a terribly clever idea: wouldn't Prowl be proud of him if he put his toys away properly without having to be asked? And did it better than just under the bed? But where could he…oh!

He could use that chest by the wall. He'd never seen Prowl open it or even look at it. He wouldn't be surprised to learn Prowl had forgotten it was even there. If he wasn't going to use it, then Bluestreak could use it to hold his toys, and he can show Prowl he can be as neat and organized as he was.

The thought of making Prowl a little bit proud made Bluestreak feel warm inside.

Now a bot with a plan, he shuffled over to the chest on his knees, undid the simple latch, and opened up the chest, expecting to find it totally empty. He was not entirely wrong, but sadly he was still mistaken.

The chest was almost completely empty, except for a few holo-cubes small enough to fit in his palm. Bluestreak knew what they were because he saw them in Jazz's quarters. But Jazz had them all over his room, displaying holographic pictures of friends and old teammates and places he had been and funny events he got to see. Bluestreak liked looking at Jazz's holo-cubes, because it was like looking into Jazz's own past and seeing what he was like.

He wished he had a few holo-cubes. Maybe then he'd be able to remember his own family and where he came from.

He really wished he could remember.

But now Bluestreak was curious. Why didn't Prowl have his pictures around his room too? What was the point in having them if you were going to hide them? Oh, wait. Maybe since Bluestreak had forgotten his family, Prowl was afraid of making him sad by having pictures of his own lying around. Or something like that.

Well, Bluestreak didn't want Prowl hiding his pictures from him. So he decided to set the pictures back out, and show Prowl that he didn't mind. Actually, he was looking forward to learning more about his Caretaker; he didn't exactly talk a lot, and when he did, it was never about himself, not really.

Curiosity now getting the best of him - and not knowing enough about privacy to stop – Bluestreak picked a holo-cube at random and switched it on.

A toy sized figure appeared, slightly transparent but fully detailed. It was a Praxian mech, colored deep purple and silver, legs apart and fists at his side in a strong, intimidating pose. His wings were held stiffly, and his optics were covered by a yellow visor that hung over a stern mouth. Whether he knew or not that his picture was being taken couldn't be determined, but every line of his body language and facial features told of a harsh personality and a powerful presence.

As soon as he saw it, Bluestreak felt like someone had grabbed his spark and tanks and _squeezed_.

He dropped the holo-cube like it was hot slag. It clattered at the bottom of the chest and turned itself off, but Bluestreak was already scuttling backwards on his aft in a panic, as if expecting a monster to rise out of the chest and eat him. He didn't stop until his wings hit the opposite wall.

For a moment, Bluestreak stayed completely still as his fuel pump worked over time and his spark fluttered wildly in his chassis.

Bluestreak could say in absolute honesty he had absolutely no memory of ever seeing that mech before, and even now he had absolutely no idea why a mere image of a total stranger spooked him so badly he just about felt sick.

He wasn't keen to find out either.

No longer caring about his toys, Bluestreak got up and crawled into Prowls berth next to the tactician. Still more than half in recharge, Prowl just scooted over slightly to make room and dropped an arm around Bluestreak shoulder before falling asleep again. When he woke up a few joors later, he would be completely befuddled by Bluestreak appearing on his berth again and himself having no memory of when it happened. Meanwhile, the youngling curled up close to his Caretaker, drawing all the comfort and security his presence gave as his fluttering spark finally began to stabilize again.

Bluestreak changed his mind. He didn't want to remember after all.

oOoOoOo

And so, as Prowl was wont to do, he found himself falling back into a familiar routine adapted slightly by the presence of a small grey and red shadow. He worked, rested, and spent more time in the rec. room in the last deca-orn than in the entire _vorn_ he'd been with the army. Bluestreak, for his part, while still glued to Prowl, was becoming marginally more comfortable with the other mechs. He was still depending on the datapad and preferring a certain amount of distance between him and everyone not-Prowl (the one exception being Jazz, and no one was entirely sure how he managed it), but at least he was getting a little better…or at the very, not any worse. It was a bit frustrating to some of the mechs, Optimus included, that they were limited in what they could actually do to help him, beyond giving him a safe place to call haven.

Then Optimus was presented with a unique opportunity to help, and routine became interrupted by a major change. Or rather, two of them.


	5. Arrival

**AN:** Whew, this chapter really got away from me. It was supposed to be MUCH longer, until I realized it was getting TOO long, so I just cut it in half and made two chapters.

Shameless plug: I would greatly appreciate it if some of you lovely reviewers would meander over to my other ongoing story, "The Sum of Our Parts." I would love to hear what everyone thinks of it.

Something I forgot to mention before, but Bluestreaks character is strongly inspired by Kisa, from "Fruits Baskets." Anyone familiar with the serious would have recognized the "waste disposal" scene from the book. :D

* * *

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 5 – Arrivals

It had been about a deca-orn since Bluestreak arrived, and by and large everyone had gotten used to his shadowing Prowl. Most still found it a little weird, but at least nobody was doing double takes when the pair walked by anymore. Whether it was the rec room, monitor room, supply room, or any place in between, Bluestreak could be counted on to be there if Prowl was.

It should be noted that the training hall had been left neglected by the tactician and de facto security director after one rather…disastrous visit. Turns out, firing guns within hearing range a shell shocked youngling was a Bad Idea. It had taken Prowl nearly a joor to calm Bluestreak down enough to coax the youngling out from the storage locker where he had leapt into hiding, curling into a trembling ball and covering his head and audios.

In any case, thus far no issues had come up regarding Bluestreaks presence. Unfortunately, due to Prowls duties and the fact that they _were_ in a military base, there were some places that no youngling could go, no matter what the circumstances.

"Bluestreak, I need you to wait out here for me," Prowl explained as he stood in front of the grey and red youngling, putting one hand on his shoulder. "I can't bring you inside the security hub, but it's important for me to talk to someone inside. He just joined us, and Optimus needs me to show him what I've done with our securities and what measures I have had implemented since coming here. It will take a long time, as much as a joor, maybe more.

"I don't have to be in there there the entire time." Prowl went on for the increasingly distressed Bluestreaks sake. "I will ask for a short break halfway through, and I can check on you then. But I need you to be patient and wait out here for me. Do you understand?"

The knot-doll looked about ready to pop from how tightly Bluestreak was hugging it. But the youngling managed to nod slowly anyway. Prowl knew this was as close as he was going to get with being "okay" with it anyway.

Prowl removed his hand and crossed his arms.

"You know that you are completely safe here. But I understand that you still have anxiety issues, so if at any point you get too uncomfortable, knock on the door for me and I'll come out. Is that acceptable to you?"

Bluestreak nodded. He still really, really wished he was allowed to come inside too, but he would be good for Prowl. He'd show Prowl he wasn't some little sparkling. Bluestreak promised himself he wouldn't bother Prowl at all until his meeting was done, and show Prowl that he wasn't a burden.

The door closed behind Prowl, and Bluestreak felt like purging his tanks.

Because of Prowls battle computer, he had been the most ideal candidate present to oversee the general security of the base against attack and infiltration, hence his being the 'de facto security director.' However, Optimus had wanted to bring on a dedicated Director for some time, someone with greater experience and extensive training in the field. It wasn't until recently (two orns ago, in fact) that Optimus managed to find someone qualified enough to work at the Autobot headquarters…the same red and white mech currently seated at the computer consol.

"I take it you're the new Security Director, Red Alert," Prowl said by way of greeting as he came further in.

"I am," the red and white replied as he turned his head to look at Prowl with one optic. He respectfully stood up and faced the tactician fully as he approached. "You must be Prowl, the one who's been taking care of security up until now."

"In the loosest sense of the term," Prowl said. "My battle computer lent itself well to the task, but it wasn't designed to search out and detect all possible security breaches or how to prevent them."

"I could tell." Red Alert said, as he indicated the screen he had been examining when Prowl came in. "The outer defenses have been well designed, but you left far too many less obvious points of entry under protected, and your security check points leave much to be desired."

Prowl could already tell it was going to be a long half-joor.

oOoOoOo

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Po-

"What!?"

"I'm bored."

A low growl.

"A c'mon! There's nothing to _do_!"

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"I don't know. Entertain me."

"No. Go away."

"But I'm booored."

"At what point did I give you the impression that I cared?"

Pout.

Ignore.

Poke.

"Touch me one more time and I will bite your finger off."

Po-

"Argh!"

"Aaah!"

Patter-patter-patter of pedes running for dear life.

Patter-patter-patter of pedes running with mildly murderous intent.

oOoOoOo

Bluestreak sat stock still against the wall besides the door.

Abruptly, he stood and marched to the other side and sat back down opposite of the door. He kept still for nearly a third of a breem before he shot back up and paced up and down the wall, doorwings twitching erratically.

How long has Prowl been in there? It's got to be at least almost time for a break, right? It's been at least a quarter joor, give or take a breem. What time was it now? Bluestreak checked his internal chromometer. Between now and the last time he checked, he had managed to restrain himself for…fifteen klicks. In total, he's been waiting for…two breems.

Bluestreak had the novel sensation of wanting to smash his head against the wall in frustration.

It was going to be a long half-joor.

Since he didn't actually want to hurt himself (his moderately sensitive chevron _was_ located in the center of his forehead, after all, and thusly be the painful point of contact were he to indulge in his self-smashing whim), Bluestreak settled for leaning an arm against the wall so it was above his head, leaning heavily against the limb wearily.

Intellectually, Bluestreak knew Prowl was just on the other side of that door, and that he himself was acting like a clingy little sparkling. He knew there was nothing to be scared of. He knew nothing was going to happen.

At least…he was pretty sure.

Bluestreaks hand on the wall clenched into a fist.

There weren't any bad bots here. He didn't have to be afraid of anyone, that's what Prowl and Jazz were always saying. There was no one here to hurt him or scare him…no one here…no one _here_…

Bluestreaks intakes skipped and hitched.

No one was here. No one was talking, no one was coming or going, it was all empty and quiet and he was alone, because there was no one left and no one was going to come ever because he was the only left and –

Wham. Wham. Wham.

Bluestreaks little fist made a steady beat against the wall, echoing up and down the silent still hall, painfully blessedly loud in the silence but not loud enough to drown out the dark vicious fears in his head that lived in the pitch black recesses of his forgotten memories and whispered pitch black words that he was alone and defenseless and the last because no one was coming out of the silence, the complete and utter silence in the remains of the broken buildings and broken bodies under the ash filled skies –

Bluestreaks intakes skipped and ran in frantic short bursts, as he felt his vision tunnel and his body tremble violently.

Wham wham wham wham wham

-- that once roared with jets and fire and rained and everyone was screaming and crying and he ran and ran because he couldn't stay he was so scared he ran she gave it to time and told him to _run_ and the streets were slick with energon of the dead and dying and it was all so loud and there was nowhere to go so he had to go back but it was gone gone it was all gone –

Bluestreaks lips were parted, gasping, trying to make the sounds come out, to fill the void and prove that he was online and _here_ and not back at the ruined buildings and ashy skies and he wasn't alone anymore because if he cried out if he screamed they'd come running and hold him close and chase the nightmare away (why oh why was the nightmare chasing him even when he was awake why couldn't it just leave him _alone_?!) and tell him it would all be alright, it'll be alright Bluestreak, it'll be okay, all he had to do was cry, scream, do SOMETHING and they'll come…

But his vocalizer was broken, he couldn't let out the scream even as it crawled up out of his spark and tore his throat to pieces from the inside trying to get out, he had to let it out, just one noise, one sound, one scream to let it all escape, that's all he had to do –

_A monotone devoid of emotion or mercy, "Cease your incessant crying. It's distracting."_

He choked back the scream –

_A slap across the face, so hard he fell to the floor, onto one door wing and it hurt so much he wanted to cry._

"_Complain again and I won't be so lenient. I will not tolerate weakness."_

_He bit back the cry, because if he was silent, it would be so much easier, he knew the rules, no one was allowed to talk at all, least of all him, the smallest one there…_

"_Good. You are learning…"_

-- he lunged across the hall –

"…_to obey…"_

-- and raised his arms and dropped Silverstreak so he can bang his fists against the door and let his hands scream _for_ him –

"…_your masters."_

Patter-patter-patter-patter-patter

"Eeee-ya-hahaHAHA HAAA!"

Bluestreak had just enough time to think _'what?' _before he was accosted by a loud red and yellow tilt-a-whirl.

That's certainly what it felt like. One klick the hall was empty and deathly quiet, the next someone had grabbed him by the back of his shoulders and was spinning him around him around in tight circles, first one way then the next, changing directions rapidly and without warning until Bluestreak was thoroughly dizzy.

The high-pitched yelling wasn't helping.

"Stop hiding behind sparklings you fragger!"

"Ha! You swore! I'm telling Red Alert!"

"Tattle and I'll bite your face off, Sideswipe!"

"Way to make me feel all warm and fuzzy Sunny!"

"WHAT did I tell you about calling me that?! My name is **Sunstreaker**, not Sunny or Sunshine or whatever aft-headed name you come up with!"

"But 'Sunny' is such a nice name for you, because you are just so HAPPY all the time!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Hey, you're already going to bite my face off. In for the klick, in for the orn, right?"

"As soon as you drop the sparkling, Sideswipe, I'm turning you inside out!"

"Well, now I really don't wanna let go."

It was about this time that Bluestreak gathered enough of his wits to realize a few things, namely a) the 'tilt-a-whirl' was actually a pair of younglings a little older (and taller) than himself, and b) the red one was holding by the shoulders and was spinning him around to keep Bluestreak between himself and the rather scary looking yellow one.

Once he made these basic conclusions, his thoughts went into overdrive. If a telepath had been in the area and thought to take a peek into Bluestreaks CPU right then, he would have heard something similar to this:

_Younglings! Like me!_

_Where did they come from?_

_I've never seen them before._

_I'm dizzy._

_Where they at Praxus too?_

_Prowl never said anything. Did he know? He must've, he knows everything._

_I think the red one is Sideswipe and the yellow one is Sunstreaker._

_He's scary. _

_They're so loud, they'll get in trouble if they don't stop._

_Oh! Almost tripped. _

_My tanks feel really funny now._

_Why is Sunstreaker so made at Sideswipe?_

_They're big._

_How come they can talk?_

_Sideswipe laughs a lot. I like his laugh. Even if he is making me dizzy._

_How old are they? Older than me at least, I think, because they're big._

_Who's Red Alert?_

_Wow, now I really don't feel so good…actually, I feel kind of…uh oh._

It all went downhill from there.

…

…

…

There's a special sort of eeriness that comes from motion and noise and laughter and even threats of bodily harm being cut off into abrupt dead silent stillness with the speed of a flipped switch. It's as if everything had been hung in suspended animation, caught between the tick and tock of time and coated in a sensation almost ethereal in its otherworldly feel, waiting for time to start up again.

Of course, Bluestreak wasn't thinking of the poetics of his situation. Mostly, he was busy being transfixed in horrified fascination by the partially processed energon that liberally coated Sunstreakers lower body.

For five full klicks, nobody so much as cycled air as their CPU's tried to wrap themselves around what had just happened.

Sideswipe was the first to break the spell.

"Wow," he commented as he leaned forward over Bluestreaks shoulder. "The projection leaves something to be desired, but the aim was spot on and the ammo's pretty impressive. I didn't think you were even big enough to hold that much. You got two tanks in you or what?"

That was enough to break the others out of their daze. Bluestreak raised his optics just in time to meet Sunstreakers.

He wished he hadn't.

Sunstreaker kept his head just low enough to add power to the white hot glare he was giving Bluestreak, his shoulders punched and fisted clenched as he very nearly vibrated with the apocalyptic rage that rolled off him in waves. The lowered head kept his face partially shadowed, adding another layer of menace that no 12 vorn old youngling should possess, and the horns on either side of head were doing nothing to soften the image.

Bluestreak pressed back against Sideswipes front, hands coming up defensively in front of his chest. On the outside, he was as frozen as a petro-rabbit caught in the gaze of a hungry turbo fox. On the inside, he was a lot less calm.

'_I'm going to dieeee!'_ He internally wailed.

Slowly, Sunstreaker raised one hand, and jabbed a finger right at the terrified Bluestreak.

"You," he intoned in a deadly serious voice, "are going to pay for this."

And now Bluestreak was actively trying to phase right through Sideswipes body behind him.

"Aw c'mon Sunstreaker, don't be like that," Sideswipe chided, holding Bluestreak in place. "He didn't do it on purpose or nothing. Besides, purple looks good on you."

"He THREW UP on me!" Sunstreaker exploded, making Bluestreak jump and cringe back even further into the dubious protection Sideswipes presence offered.

"He slagging threw up on me!" Sunstreaker kept ranting. "How the frag am I NOT supposed to be torqued about this?! I am NOT going anywhere when I'm covered in slagging vomit on my legs! And purple and yellow clash horribly and should never be seen outside of a dessert tray you uneducated dolt! That just makes it WORSE!"

Bluestreaks mounting terror was briefly shoved aside in favor of blank disbelief.

'…_What?'_

Sideswipe released one of Bluestreaks shoulders long enough to wave off his yellow companion's objections.

"Chillax, brother dear. You can wash it off easy, if you get to the wash racks before it dries on."

'_Wait, brothers?'_

"And just _where_ ARE the wash racks?" Susntreaker asked dangerously.

"I have no idea!" Sideswipe chirped far too cheerfully. "But I bet this guys knows, don't'cha?"

It took Bluestreak an extra klick to realize Sideswipe was talking to him. When he did, self preservation had him nodding his head so vigorously his head felt about ready to fly off.

"See! Problem solved!" Sideswipe concluded happily. "Lead the way, you!"

Wait, what?

To Bluestreaks disbelief, Sideswipe had both hands pressed against his back between his doorwings and was pushing him down the wall, obviously determined to recruit him as their base guide whether he wanted to do or not. In a brief flash of panic, Bluestreak dug his heels in and pushed back – he couldn't just leave, Prowl told him to wait!

"Eh? What gives?" Sideswipe asked, leaning over Bluestreaks shoulder to look at him in confusion.

Bluestreak shook his head as fast as he could. He wanted to say he needed to wait for Prowl, he wanted to say he didn't want to wander too far away, he didn't want to get swept away by these two, he didn't want to get too far from his Caretaker in case he couldn't find him later and he got lost, he didn't want to disobey Prowl, because disobeying was bad and when you were bad, then bad things happened to you, Bluestreak was sure of it…

But, as with every time before, the words would not come.

And now his vision was filled with an angry Sunstreaker looming over him, far too close for comfort. Bluestreak pressed up against Sideswipe again as if the wires breadth of extra space would protect him.

"Listen you," Sunstreaker growled as he leaned in even closer. "I'm covered in your puke. You are taking me to the wash racks, and you are not going anywhere else until I say so. Got it?"

Oh Primus, he was scary. Bluestreak curled up a little more into himself defensively, wings lowering and trying to go back to protect the sensitive appendages. This last show of intimidation was just too much for the stressed out youngling, and before he knew it his optics were already beginning to pool over with coolant.

Sunstreaker reared back. "Are you _crying_?!"

He just sounded so _appalled_, Bluestreak couldn't help but feel humiliated by his weakness. His hands flew up to hind the evidence, but it was too late. He shuttered his optics, and the coolant overflowed and trailed down his cheeks. Now that he started, he just couldn't stop; his shoulders were already beginning to shake with silent sobs.

"Faaan-tastic, Sunny," Sideswipe commented flatly. "You made another little youngling cry. That took, what, half a breem?"

Sunstreaker ignored his red counterpart. He was more concerned with getting the small grey youngster to stop crying before an adult came around the corner and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Okay okay, look, you don't have to cry, alright? I'm not _actually_ going to hurt you or anything. Sure I'm mad, but you did throw up on me…argh, forget that, I'm just annoyed, I'm not actually…I didn't mean…I wasn't going to do anything, so stop it already….just stop it…I wasn't…I meant…don't…argh, STOP CRYING SLAGGIT!"

He was not doing a very good job of it.

"Way to go, Mr. Sensitivity." Sideswipe noted in the same flat tone, patting Bluestreak on the top of the head as he just sobbed harder. "Yell at the kid, that's sure to make him feel better."

"I don't see YOU helping!" Sunstreaker snapped.

"Gimme a klick. Um…ooh! Sunstreaker, hand that thing over….thanks. Hey kid, look what I got!"

Hiccupping slightly, Bluestreak lowered his hands slightly. Though blurry optics, he saw his faithful doll being held in front of him as Sideswipe leaned slightly over and around him.

"Lookee lookee lookee lookee!" Sideswipe sang, shaking the doll and making her dance in his hand.

The doll was swiftly grabbed and cuddled for dear life. As Bluestreak hugged Silverstreak and buried his face in the soft cloth, Sideswipe shot Sunstreaker a smug look.

"I could've done that," Sunstreaker muttered darkly, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, but you didn't, so I still win."

"Hmph. NOW can we go to the wash racks? I'm already starting to crust."

"Good question. Hey kid, you alright to take us now, or what?"

Bluestreak bit his lower lip and glanced at the door that hid Prowl. He did feel bad about throwing up on Sunstreaker, even if it was an accident, and showing them where the wash racks were would be the least he could do. On the other servo, Prowl had told him to wait, and he didn't want to disobey his Caretaker, because if you disobey you were Bad, and if you were Bad you were Punished, and Bluestreak didn't want to be Punished.

(It never occurred to him to wonder where this assured knowledge came from, or what it meant to be "Bad", or what being "Punished" entailed, only that both were to be avoided at all costs).

No, he couldn't leave, he couldn't disobey Prowl. What if he got mad? Prowl's never gotten mad before, but then again, Bluestreak hadn't done anything Bad yet. No, it's better not to risk it. Maybe he could just give them directions, or draw a little map on his data pad. The wash racks weren't exactly close, but they weren't too hard to find. He can tell them how to get there, say he's sorry, and they can go and leave him alone again…

...in...

...the...

...silence.

Before he had too much time to think of it, Bluestreak took Sideswipes arm and pulled him wordlessly down the hallway. Sunstreaker, after a confused pause at the change of events, fell into step following them.

"Awesome! I knew you'd come through for us!" Sideswipe said happily. He turned to his not so happy counterpart.

"Y'see? If you'd just been nice about it from the start, we wouldn't have wasted so much time and you won't have made another little youngling cry."

"It's not like I do it on purpose," Sunstreaker countered sourly. "It's not my fault they're all too sensitive. I don't even have to do anything before they get all leaky!"

"Right, why would they be scared of you? You just _ooze_ happy sunshine!"

"Shut up Sides. This is your entire fault anyway."

As the pair bickered and bantered back and forth, tossing light insults and accusations met with jokes and denial in an argument with great familiarity and no bite, Bluestreak felt himself relax marginally. His tanks were doing major flip flops, and if he stopped to think too much about what he was doing he honestly thought he would be sick again, it made him so nervous.

But then he would pay attention to the older younglings and the weird, nonsensical things they said to each other that were still fun to hear, how they filled the empty hallway with their own voices and laughter and life, and Bluestreak couldn't help but feel better. He wouldn't be gone long, just long enough to take them to the wash racks, maybe show them how they worked if they didn't know, then he'd be right back so Prowl would never find out he left. But just this once, Bluestreak wanted to be a little bit greedy and selfish; he wanted to stay near the younglings, these strange, loud, fearless younglings who just by being themselves managed to chase away the nightmares that followed Bluestreak beyond the recharge berth.

Even if he was disobeying, being Punished couldn't possibly be worse than being alone in the silence he couldn't chase away by himself, the empty dead silence where the nightmares lived and chased him from beyond the night.

oOoOoOo

"The overall outer defense is good, but the internal security could stand to be much tighter," Red Alert judged. "Also, I don't like how there is no way to turn off the system remotely in the event everyone is trapped outside."

"The chances of the base being empted and locked out while the security grid is up are astronomical," Prowl pointed out as he turned off the simulation on the computer screen.

"True," Red Alert allowed. "But 'improbable' is not the same as 'impossible', and the worst only needs to happen once."

Prowl was quickly learning that this was more or less Red Alerts motto when it came to security. He basically worked on the assumption that every bad probability would happen eventually, so he made it his job to turn all the undesirable improbabilities into impossibilities, even if the aforementioned 'probability' was about the same as the planet being reduced to cosmic dust by a giant meteorite (and already Prowl would not be surprised if Red Alert had a backup plan for _that_ even). It admittedly made for an effective Security Director, and he was able to see flaws and anticipate dangers that Prowl hadn't noticed or overlooked in favor of more obvious, likely eventualities. But it also required an enormous amount of patience to put up with having your carefully crafted, tested, and implemented protocols being systematically shredded by an inconsequential and usually unavoidable hole.

Not that Prowl was _frustrated_ or anything. Frustration clouded judgment and clear thinking. Besides, it was illogical to become frustrated with someone for only doing the very job they had been brought in to do. If nothing else, Red Alert was certainly (_anal, paranoid, obsessive-compulsive_) **devoted** to his job.

"We also need to go through the rosters and make sure we have a complete history of each and every mech on base before and during their service. Most of their records have the basic information, but I need details. You've been there longer, Prowl, so you can be the one to get those histories. Do try to be thorough, the Pit is in the details after all."

So of course Prowl wouldn't be so immature to feel an emotion as unreasonable as frustration, nope, not at all.

Prowls chronometer chimed right then, signaling the promised halfway point.

"I would like to take a short break before we continue," Prowl stated, conveniently ignoring Red Alerts request/order for him. Said mech just nodded in acknowledgement, already pulling up the base schematics and probably planning his own changes already.

Prowl left him to it, heading to the door. Bluestreak hadn't knocked once, and while that was technically not a bad thing, it went against his earlier predictions of what the youngling would do. He even had a bit of a plan: Bluestreak would most likely be overcome with anxiety within ten, fifteen breems before knocking on the door. Prowl would break away, spend thirty to forty five klicks (depending how distressed he was) assuring Bluestreak everything was alright, and if it was bad enough he would offer to put Bluestreak on his comm. line so he would be able to hear his voice.

However, none of that happened. It left Prowl with a sense of disquiet he usually got when things didn't go according to plan. It usually meant something had gone wrong.

Prowl keyed the door open, already bracing for the hug for the hug he knew was coming – Bluestreak had done a remarkable job restraining himself, he was probably aching for physical contact by now.

Nothing happened.

No one was there.

Prowl actually rebooted his optics to be certain. The sight before him didn't change; the hall was completely bereft of younglings.

This was…unexpected.

Prowl battle computer slammed into action with enough force to almost make him feel dizzy, analyzing everything he knew about Bluestreak and the surrounding area, where he could have gone, why, and for how long. Said CPU stuttered to a halt when he noticed the energon, but his battle computer took up the slack. He knelt down and examined the drying puddle, and quickly determined it had not come from a wound – the color was wrong, and Prowl couldn't feel any lingering static when he passed his servo over it. From the color and consistency, and how much it had dried, it looked more like partially processed energon, purged sometime in the last 40 breems, but no later than that.

Bots very rarely purged, but when they did, it usually happened in two circumstances: a particular virus, or extreme emotional duress.

Bluestreak had shown no signs of having a virus, and Ratchet had not detected anything in his last checkup. Besides, the youngling had no opportunity to become infected, what with him not being allowed to access the base mainframe or download anything. Even if he was, the firewalls would be more than adequate to keep anything and everything out of the mainframe long before it could infect a careless youngling. It wasn't impossible, granted, but unlikely.

Extreme emotional duress, unfortunately, was far more probable, especially when taking into account Bluestreaks anxiety issues. It could explain the sudden purging, but not why he had wandered off. That anxiety should have led him to knock on the door for Prowl, which he obviously did not do.

Unless someone had chanced seen him purging, and in concern had taken Bluestreak away to Ratchet. With the youngling still unable to talk, and perhaps not being able to use his datapad for whatever reason, he wouldn't be able to protest. Bluestreak would not leave on his own – that someone had led him away was the most logical explanation for his absence.

But then why did no one comm. Prowl to let him know? Was it simple carelessness? No, then Ratchet at least would have told him if Bluestreak had been dropped off in his med bay sans the tactician.

The 'why's' were irrelevant, compared to the 'where' and the 'who.'

It looked like the new Security Director would get a chance to be put through his paces sooner than anticipated.

Red Alert spun in his chair and Prowl marched right back into the hub.

"Back already?" he asked, mildly surprised.

"Search through the base for a grey and red Praxian youngling, starting from outside this room and spreading outwards," Prowl ordered.

Red Alert, to his credit, didn't waste time asking questions or wondering about why there was a youngling on the base in the first place. He didn't even allow his surprise to hesitate him; he spun the chair back around and directly pulled the security feeds up, starting with the camera that watched the hall outside the security hub.

"Starting half a joor ago?" he asked.

"Exactly."

While Red Alert rewound the vid, Prowl jerked slightly in surprise as he received a ping from a comm. He was strongly tempted to ignore it for a klick, but a sense of duty (and the possibility that it was the Prime contacting him and the cardinal rule of You Do Not Ignore The Prime Ever Period), he answered it, raising a hand to his head in signal to Red Alert that he was talking on his comm. Hopefully this would be quick.

: : Prowl here. : :

: : Nice t' hear from you again! : :

Prowl jerked slightly in surprise when he recognized the voice.

: : Jazz? Didn't you leave for a mission two orns ago? : :

: : Yeah, but I got back. Just saw Ratchet for th' mandatory post-mission checkup, an' I was wondering where you and Blue were. I kinda missed the little guy, and I was hopin' to drop in maybe if ya weren't too busy. : :

Prowl looked up to the screens, where Red Alert had just paused it on the image capture of Prowl standing in front of Bluestreak (had Bluestreak really looked that scared before?).

: : That won't be possible. We have a bit of a situation right now. : : Prowl informed the Special Ops member.

All mirth was gone from Jazz's voice when he responded.

: : What kind o' situation? : :

Prowl told him.

_~ Just outside the Med bay doors ~_

"WHAT DO YOU **MEAN** YOU _LOST_ _BLUESTREAK_!?"

Inside the Med bay, Ratchet dropped a wrench and Ironhide fell off the berth. Jazz, ignorant of the reaction his outburst had elicited, was already hurrying down the hall.

: : Know what, never mind, I'm on my way. : : Jazz comm.'d back silently. : : Where are ya right now? : :

: : Stay where you are Jazz. : : Prowl ordered, and now the visored mech could pick out an undercurrent of tightness in his voice that hadn't been there before in all the times he had spoken with him.

: : We're looking over the video feed now. : : Prowl went on. : : For all we know, you're already closer to Bluestreak than we are, and if so I'll need you to bring him back. : :

: : Gotcha. Standin' by then. : :

Jazz clicked off the comm., sighed, and fell back against the wall. So much for a relaxing mini-vacation after the mission. And he'd been so looking forward to seeing Bluestreak and Prowl again. Granted, two orns wasn't very longer, but on a stressful mission it felt a frag of a lot longer.

The hall was empty and quiet, for the moment at least, for which Jazz was grateful. It gave him a moment to collect himself, start thinking as too where Bluestreak had most likely ended up, and why.

It also had the unexpected benefit of allowing his highly tuned audio's pick up high pitched screaming no adult mech should be able to make.

Jazz's fuel pump just about jumped out of his chest. As soon as he registered the sound he was already running as fast as he could down the halls.

oOoOoOo

Bluestreak had honestly intended to just show the red and yellow brothers (twins!) to the washracks, then come straight back before Prowl had a chance to learn he had wandered off – no harm, no foul, right?

(That's what he remembered hearing Jazz say sometimes, and if Jazz says it…)

But Sideswipe proved to be easily distracted and kept forcing detours every time something shiny caught his optic, and Sunstreaker refused on pain of death to go down any populated hall lest his humiliation be seen, and between the two of them it took at least three times as long just to get to the wash racks as it should have, and they weren't THAT terribly close to begin with. Once they were there, Bluestreak had to stay to be sure they knew where the solvents were, and then Sideswipe almost pulled the nozzle head right off, and one thing led to another until…

"Hold it tighter, you're letting the pressure go down," Sunstreaker ordered.

Bluestreak obliged, readjusting his grip on the nozzle so that it sprayed harder on the yellow twins legs, said twin currently cleaning away the last of the mess with a brush. Sideswipe, for his part, was wandering around the washracks curiously, obligingly holding onto Bluestreaks doll and datapad so they wouldn't get wet. Occasionally he reminded his twin and new guide that he was still there with random comments, which Sunstreaker either ignored or frowned in annoyance.

"Hey Sunny, have you ever seen such huge racks before!"

Such as right now.

Bluestreak wasn't sure what Sideswipe was so fascinated with. Sure, the wash racks was pretty much the biggest room he'd seen, but there wasn't a whole lot to it; it was a large, mostly empty room in pale yellow tiles with spigots and nozzles against the walls in one half, with shelves built in to hold containers of solvents for tough grime in squeeze bottles and hooks to hang the brushes and rags. On the other wall were the dryers…and that was about it.

"You can turn it off now," Sunstreaker told him as he set the brush aside, in favor of a cleaning rag. Bluestreak obliged, turning off the spray nozzle and hanging it back on the wall. The 'danger' past, Sideswipe wandered back.

"Why were you carrying this around anyway?" Sideswipe asked.

Bluestreak turned to see the red twin fiddling around with his datapad, which he had set by the door for Silverstreak to guard so it wouldn't get wet. He frowned. He didn't like that Sideswipe was messing with it without his permission. He almost reached over and pulled it right out of the rude youngling's hands, but a lack of gumption had him changing his mind at the last minute and only holding out his hand in silent request instead. Fortunately, Sideswipe understood and passed it over without comment.

**I use it to talk.**

Sideswipe had messed with the font settings, to Bluestreaks mild annoyance.

Sideswipe's read the message, looked at Bluestreak as if to say 'you're kidding, right?', back at the datapad, then up at the perfectly seriously youngling. He quirked an optic guard ridge in an otherwise flat expression, his face now just about screaming 'just how weird ARE you anyway?'

Bluestreak felt himself wilt a little as he felt his budding confidence take a hit.

"Why don't you just talk like a regular bot, with your voice and all that?" Sideswipe questioned as he crossed his arms.

Bluestreak shuffled his feet in nervous habit, dropping his optics so he wouldn't have to look at Sideswipe in the faceplates. For the first time, he felt truly embarrassed by his muteness. He wanted to explain it to the older youngling, to say it all in a way that the older youngling would understand and accept with a smile and infectious laugh, but he didn't know how.

How best to describe why he couldn't talk? How, when he first woke up, he would occasionally try to speak but the words would become trapped in his own throat? How he was gripped in breathless fear every time he tried to make a sound – a sigh, a giggle, a cry – even though he couldn't remember why he was so scared? How to convey what he himself didn't even understand?

So Bluestreak settled for the next best thing.

**My voice doesn't work.**

"Seriously?" Sideswipe asked skeptically. He rubbed his chin as he carefully contemplated Bluestreaks answer.

The only warning Bluestreak had of Sideswipes thought process was the red twins quick glance at his doorwings, just before Sideswipe grabbed him by one shoulder and used his freehand to tickled the sensitive appendage mercilessly.

Bluestreak twitched and convulsed until he was nearly curled up on the wet floor, body shaking as he doubled over in silent gasping laughter until he was nearly choking. And still Sideswipe didn't stop.

"Oh c'mon. Not even a squeak?" he asked, trying various sensitive spots to get his desired effect until he was sitting on Bluestreaks legs (said youngling now on his front, propping himself up his elbows) while he rubbed circles on the bottom of his pedes.

It was fun at first, laughing so hard with the sensation that made him feel giggly and happy, but as the tickle torture went on it was getting a lot less fun. Even though Bluestreak was still laughing it was almost starting to _hurt_ and he wanted Sidewipe to just _stop,_ but he couldn't say anything. He tried kicking his feet, but Sideswipe was holding his legs down by sitting on them. He banged his fist and tried to wiggle away, but Sideswipe was determined to make Bluestreak squeal and wasn't giving up anytime soon.

"Soon as you laugh or squeak or tell me to frag off, I'll stop," Sideswipe told him simply, to Bluestreaks despair.

_PSHHHHH!_

"Argh!"

Sideswipe abruptly dropped Bluestreaks pede and rolled off of his legs. The youngest raised his head, wiping the tears rolling down his face to look at his unexpected savior.

"Knock it off Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said flatly, the nozzle he held still dripping from when he sprayed his brother in the head.

Said brother at first looked mildly affronted, until a whole new idea occurred to him. His frown slowly morphed into a mischievous grin that in a previous life had sent many a sparkling sitter running, as his servo eased to the other nozzle hanging on the wall.

Sunstreakers optics widened. "Don't even think about it," he warned.

"Too late, already thought it."

_PSHHHHH!_

Sunstreaker threw his hands up in time to protect his face from the water black, then returned it kind with full vengeance. Laughing, Sideswipe jumped up and raced away, dropping his nozzle (still attached to the wall and therefore not terribly mobile) and grabbing a still full bottle for an improvised water (or at least liquid) gun.

"Catch me!" he challenged as he darted away.

Sunstreaker, in the universal fashion of brothers everywhere, could not let the challenge go unanswered. He dropped his own nozzle, grabbed his own bottle, and proceeded to give full chase with a feral grin.

Bluestreak sat on the floor and watched the pair chase and spray each other as they raced and slid around the expansive wash racks, yelling challenges and mild insults back and forth all the while. He tilted his head as he watched, taking it all in. It was funny; it was like they fed off each other's energy and wit, so that the more fun one had, the more fun they both had. It was enjoyable to watch, but it also left him feeling a little sad to have been forgotten so quickly.

This is why it took him an extra few klicks to realize what was happening when Sideswipe pulled him to his pedes and shoved another bottle into his surprised hands.

"You're on my side now!" he declared with a crazed grin.

"What? Since when do we play with little sparklings?" Sunstreaker asked hotly, as if Sideswipe had just grievously offended him.

"Since it meant going two on one!" Sideswipe rebutted happily.

"Why would he want to be on _your_ side anyway? You just got done tickle torturing him!"

"Yeah, but only because I care!"

"Fragger!"

"Sore loser!"

_Pshhhhh!_

The twins stopped, blinked, and stared at the new wet spot on Sideswipes chest, courtesy of Bluestreak.

Said younglings wings were twitching anxiously, and he looked somewhere between smug, nervous, and a giddy 'holy Primus I can't believe I just DID that!'

"…I take it back." Sunstreaker decided. "He can play."

"Oh, it's ON!" Sideswipe declared with a dangerous grin. Bluestreak covered his retreat with a spray to Sideswipes face and scurried closer to his current golden hued ally.

The three younglings chased, sprayed, slid, laughed, and played together in a mock battle that grew bigger and more extravagant with each passing klick of Sideswipes running commentary and Sunstreakers obliging role-play. And Bluestreak, for the first time he could remember in his admittedly short memory, completely forgot himself and immersed himself fully into the game.

So caught up were they in their game, they never noticed the amused if befuddled mech standing in the doorway.

oOoOoOo

: : Jazz, how close are you to the wash racks right now? : :

: : Hello t' you too Prowl. Believe it or not, I'm standing right outside them. : :

: : You are? Is Bluestreak still there? : :

: : Yeah, he is. And Prowl? I think you're really gonna want t' see this. : :


	6. Playmates

**AN**: Usually I wait a couple of weeks before posting the next chapter, but this one and the last one were really one REALLY long chapter that I had to break up. With that in mind, I decided to go ahead and put this one up sooner than later. Because I love you all so much. ^_^

Special treat this chapter – the addition of an "omake", which is basically an extra scene in the story that I couldn't fit into the main chapter. I really wanted to write the scene, but I didn't want to interrupt the flow of the story. Hence, the "omake." I probably won't do it again, but hey, you never know.

This chapter was inspired by this comic page on deviantart: http: // bloody chaser. deviantart. com/ art/ BabySit -Cha -02 -P11- end -109160632

Obviously you'll need to remove the spaces.

* * *

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 6 – Playmates

Rewinding the security vid, then fast forwarding it, revealed that the manifestation of Prowls worst fear wasn't as bad as he thought it was going to be.

"What is that?" he asked blandly when the red and yellow blurs materialized around the startled Bluestreak, catching him in a miniature tornado before the youngling could knock on the door.

Red Alert, breaking his perfect professional character, face palmed.

"Those would be the pair of hellions I had naively hoped would be able to behave themselves unsupervised for a joor or two," he dead panned.

"They're with you?" Prowl asked as he watched the red one use Bluestreak as a shield against the yellow one (his grip was bad, too close to the wing hinges and potentially damaging if Bluesteak should trip).

"No point in denying it," Red Alert said with an air of resignation. "They're a pair of twelve vorn old twins named Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They also happen to be my younger brothers."

Prowl snaps his head around, honestly shocked by the revelation. "Brothers? Why are your…"

The look on Red Alerts face (who is still watching the monitor) was enough to prompt Prowl to look back himself. Just in time too, as the inevitable consequence of spinning a youngling around too fast shortly after breakfast made itself known…all over Sunstreakers legs.

'_So that's where the purged energon came from,'_ Prowl thought, moderately relieved.

"Serves him right," Red Alert commented with a smirk. Even Prowl couldn't repress a quick quip at the corner of his mouth in an odd sense of vindication.

The budding good humor was sucked dry when the yellow youngling loomed over Bluestreak in blatant intimidation. There was no audio, but Prowl didn't need it; he had a perfect view of the expression on Bluestreaks face when he started crying.

Prowls hand sporadically clenched on his crossed arms.

Red Alert cringed. "I do apologize for Sunstreakers behavior. He often fails to understand how…intimidating he can be sometimes."

"Hm," Prowl responded neutrally, watching Sunstreaker flail as if flustered by the crying youngling, only to resort to yelling at him and making him cry harder instead.

Prowls intense dislike for Sunstreaker – and Sideswipe, for just standing there and not doing anything to stop his brother – was growing exponentially by the klick.

"What are your brothers doing on base?" Prowl asked as Sideswipe shook the knot-doll in front of Bluestreaks face as a distraction.

Red Alert gave him an odd, sidelong look. "Presumably for much the same reason yours is."

Prowl frowned in thought. Certainly Bluestreak wouldn't be the only youngling orphaned or displaced by the war, but he couldn't recall any recent tumultuous events that would leave these brothers homeless, and anything more than two deca-orns ago would have left enough time to get them to Elita's contingent where they could be sent to a neutral city or –

Wait.

"Bluestreak is not my brother."

"He's not?" Red Alert said in surprise. He looked back at the screen, and even Prowl could see him trying to do the math in his head.

"He's not my creation either." Prowl was quick to clarify (and Red Alert looked somewhere between embarrassed and relieved). "We are not related in any familial way."

Now Red Alert looked simply confused. "Then what does – they're leaving."

Prowls attention snapped back to the screen. Based on what he knew of Bluestreak and what he had already gleaned from the twin's personalities, he had already predicted that Bluestreak would be lead away by the twins for their amusement or some such, and he, being the youngest, smallest, and shyest, wouldn't find it in him to protest.

So when it was _Bluestreak_ who grabbed _Sideswipe_ by the arm and took the lead, it just about made his probability circuits sputter and die.

That…that wasn't supposed to happen. Bluestreak was shy, and deferential, and preferred to be in the background rather than the center of attention. He didn't take the lead, and he didn't disobey, and he never wandered off with anyone else, especially someone he didn't even know. This went completely against his character! Prowl knew him better than that!

Didn't he?

"Prowl, how well does Bluestreak know the base layout?" Red Alert asked, bringing the black and white mech back to the present.

"Bluestreak has never explored the base on his own," Prowl explained. "He's only ever followed me. I don't know if he's committed any of the base to memory or not."

"He seemed confident enough, so we might as well assume as much," Red Alert decided as he stood. "Considering what we just watched, there is only one place they, or rather Sunstreaker, would want to go."

oOoOoOo

: : Jazz, how close are you to the wash racks right now? : :

: : Hello t' you too Prowl. Believe it or not, I'm standing right outside them. : :

: : You are? Is Bluestreak still there? : :

: : Yeah, he is. And Prowl? I think you're really gonna want t' see this. : :

oOoOoOo

It's already been well established that Prowl is not a terribly expressive mech. Popular wisdom holds that lack of expression is generally due strongly to lack of emotion. Or at least strong emotion felt by most healthy bots. In fact, Prowl was so well known for his aloof, even stony disposition, he was already infamous for it. For instance, in this moment all Prowl could do was watch with focused, unshuttering optics (not to different than usual, he was usually focus to the point of almost scary intensity) that were just marginally wider than normal.

Jazz correctly surmised that this would be the closest Prowl could get to open-jawed disbelief.

"What are they doing?" Prowl asked simply, not taking his optics off the sight inside the washracks that the adults had yet to enter.

Jazz grinned as he leaned forward and twisted around to look at Prowl in the face, his servo's clasped behind his back.

"Most mechs would call it 'playing'," he answered, carefully enunciating the last word as if it were in a foreign language.

Prowl considered a snide witticism that a mech unfamiliar with his ways might mistake for sarcasm, but plum forgot too when Bluestreak ran by and nearly slipped and fell straight back on the wet floor, but with the biggest grin he had ever worn since Prowl fist saw him.

Bluestreak was playing. Interacting. Socializing. On his own. At his own initiative.

Without needing Prowl at his side.

For the past deca-orn, Bluestreak had been his constant shadow, to the point where Prowl had just taken for granted that the youngling was right behind and next to him. He had always stayed close, trusting Prowl to keep him safe, occasionally smiling to others but not allowing anyone the same amount of trust he gave Prowl, not even Jazz. Now here he was, engaging in play with two complete strangers (fellow younglings yes, but strangers all the same and Bluestreak was NEVER comfortable with strangers) and for all the world had completely forgotten about his Caretaker.

Technically, this was a good thing. It spoke volumes of Bluestreaks level of comfort, and couldn't be anything but a positive sign of his emotional recovery after his traumatic ordeal. Even if he had disobeyed Prowl and should be disciplined for it (how was Prowl supposed to do his duty as his Caretaker if he willfully disobeyed?) he couldn't find it in himself to be too upset with the grey youngling anymore. So yes, this was a good, positive turn of events.

And yet, it left Prowl with an unusual sensation of…wrongness. That it was too fast, too soon, too…_easy_.

It was a completely illogical reaction, so Prowl resolved to dismiss it in its entirety.

Too bad he was standing with a mech who excelled at picking up these sorts of annoying details.

"Relax Prowl, ya don't have t' get all jealous," Jazz assured him as he leaned against the doorframe with one arm.

Prowl jolted slightly and looked over at the saboteur disapprovingly.

"I am not _jealous_, because I have no reason to be jealous," Prowl told him firmly. "This is normal behavior, and is a sign that Bluestreak is beginning to emotionally recover from his experiences. There is no rational reason to have a negative reaction to a positive development."

"Mm-hm. Don't worry, you're still his favorite. It's not like you've been dumped or anything."

"…Were you not listening just now?"

Red Alert, standing on Prowls other side with his arms crossed and leaning against the door frame, tactfully chose to ignore them both.

Bluestreak made a lucky shot right into Sideswipes face, leaving the red twin sputtering and clearing the way for a risky getaway dash away from the wall and out into the open past the door. Bluestreak twisted around to check for Sunstreaker, and finally caught a glimpse of his audience.

He couldn't have frozen faster if he had been dropped into liquid nitrogen.

His mirth evaporated even faster.

Bluestreak tossed the bottle away as if it burned him in a futile attempt to hide the evidence. He wrung his hands in front of him, standing in the middle of the room and facing Prowl nearly four body lengths away but suddenly finding the floor to be absolutely fascinating. Even his wings were lowering slightly in submissiveness. He couldn't have looked more contrite if he had practiced for this moment.

Too bad Sunstreaker didn't notice in time to stop from spraying him full force on the side of the head.

"Bluestreak, the point is to _avoid_ getting shot, remember?" Sunstreaker informed the younger one as he came over. Only then did he notice the audience as well.

"…Oh frag."

"Sunstreaker!"

"Sorry Red Alert."

There wasn't much point in hanging out in the hall any longer, so Prowl took the lead in coming inside the wash racks, where the younglings (joined by Sideswipe) waited. The twins looked more disappointed than anything, and Bluestreak…the closer Prowl came, the more he seemed to curl up into himself into a pathetic, defensive little ball, just _waiting_ for awful punishment.

'_Just what does he think I'm going to do?_' Prowl wondered, unwittingly echoing Ratchets own question from his first meeting with the youngling. Then again, he had never been in trouble before; he had no way of knowing what to expect, but seemed geared to assuming the worst.

Prowl would never admit this out loud, he didn't even acknowledge it to himself…but for reasons that had nothing to do with logic or reason, it was completely, totally, utterly impossible to stay mad at a little youngling who just looked so _sorry_.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, however, were not finding nearly as much mercy in Red Alert.

"Contrary to what the two of you might have thought," Red Alert said, crossing his arms and looking sternly down at his siblings, "when I said 'stay in the room and wait for me to come back,' it was NOT up to interpretation. You both already know what this means, of course."

"But we-!" Sideswipe started, but his defense quickly died under the unmovable Red Alerts Look. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine…"

Bluestreak gave Sideswipe a sidelong, sympathetic look.

Until his energy spiked right back up again.

"But can we at least finish our game first?!" Sideswipe asked eagerly. "Bluestreak's like three points ahead still!"

"He is?" Jazz asked, genuinely surprised that Bluestreak had been doing so well against younglings four vorns older than him.

Even Red Alert seemed a little startled. "Really? Isn't he, what, five or six vorns younger than you?"

"It's only four! I'm begging you Red, at least hold off until I can regain my honor!"

"You don't have any honor," Sunstreaker pointed out.

"Then Red can hold off until I _get_ some honor!"

Jazz was snickering in his hand, and even Red Alert was having a hard time not looking amused. But Prowl, however, was paying more attention to Bluestreak.

Up until this moment, Bluestreak had kept his head and wings low in submissiveness, twisting his hands in anxiousness. But when Sideswipe spoke up to Red Alert, Bluestreaks head had snapped up to stare at him in shock and trepidation, as if he knew Sideswipe had done something terrible and was about to suffer for it. But when Red Alert just bantered right back at him, Bluestreaks trepidation morphed into shock and confusion, as if he had been expecting one thing and had gotten something entirely different.

Prowl had recently become uncomfortably familiar with the sensation.

Red Alert sighed. "Well, alright. I'll give you another two breems to 'regain your honor', but you come quietly after that, alright?"

"Yes sir!" Sideswipe chirped with a crisp salute, and even Sunstreaker looked pleased.

Bluestreak's jaw dropped as all higher processor function temporarily ceased. Higher processor function returned after he got a face full of water courtesy of Sideswipe, who in turn was ambushed by Sunstreaker and forced on the run. Bluestreak started to follow, but hesitated, and looked back at Prowl uncertainly.

….Discipline could wait a couple more breems.

"Go." Prowl said simply.

That proved permission enough for Bluestreak, and within klicks the game had resumed, with the adults leaning against the wall way out of the line of water.

"Been a while since I saw this," Jazz said, sounding a bit wistful. Red Alert nodded in agreement.

"Almost makes you wish you were young again, doesn't it?" he said as he leaned back against the wall.

Memories of his own younglinghood rose unbidden in Prowls CPU. He couldn't say he shared Red Alerts sentiments.

Bluestreak was kneeling next to one of the dividers in the racks, laying in wait for one of his victims to stray too close. He peeked his head out to look around, checking if the coast was clear. He saw Sideswipe rapidly filling his bottle his bottle (unarmed and exposed, the sweetest target of all), but he also caught a glimpse of the adults leaning against the wall (well, Jazz and Red Alert were leaning, but Prowl wasn't because that might give the mistaken impression that he was relaxing and Prowl Does Not Relax, or so he keeps being told) talking quietly with each other and partially watching the game.

Bluestreak was struck with, what was to him, an absolutely insane idea that completely went against all the unwritten rules of youngling-adult interaction conduct. But his coolant was rushing with excitement, and emboldened even further by witnessing the casual interaction between Sideswipe and Red Alert (he still couldn't believe that Sideswipe wasn't punished for speaking up like that!), Bluestreak was already hurrying over before he had a chance to think about it too much and convince himself out of it.

Prowl took a step forward to meet him. "Is something wrong Bluestreak?"

His answer was a squirt bottle filled with water being shoved into his hands.

Prowl blinked.

"No fair! No reinforcements!" Sideswipe loudly protested, which Sunstreaker echoed.

Bluestreak patted himself, pointed up at Prowl, then held up two fingers, which he used to point at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.

_Me and Prowl against you and Sunstreaker, two on two._

For Prowl, this was not an anticipated turn of events. Adults did not join in youngling games, because they had long since grown past the need for it. Younglings did not invite adults because it was an intrusion on the socialization and bond creation that was built into the play, and younglings tended to restrain themselves too much when adults interacted, making it too awkward. What Bluestreak was doing, trying to include Prowl was…kind, but misguided, and Prowl couldn't let him make that mistake.

"Bluestreak, this is your game, I shouldn't-" Prowl tried to explain.

"Nu uh!" Sideswipe interrupted loudly as he came over. "If you get Prowl, then I get Red Alert!"

The red twin grabbed his befuddled elder brother's arm defiantly. Bluestreak tilted his head thoughtfully, before turning back to Sunstreaker and pointing to him and the grinning Jazz with an inquisitive expression.

_So do you want to partner up with Jazz then?_

"Yeah sure why not," Sunstreaker said with a shrug. "Least it'll still be fair."

"But…this isn't…" Prowl tried to say, except his protest petered out when he realized he had no idea whatsoever what the appropriate response was within his limited understanding.

"Hey Prowl," Jazz said with an evil smirk. "Here's a hint – forget logic for two klicks an' just enjoy the moment fer once."

With that, Jazz squirted Sideswipe, who took off hollering. Jazz chased after Sideswipe while Sunstreaker chased after Jazz while Red Alert came around to cut them all off and save his partner from a certain soaking. Prowl watched them all blankly, as two reasonable adults (well, one reasonable adult and Jazz) started playing around as if they were younglings themselves, and freely sacrificing their dignity in the meantime.

He felt a light tugging at his arm, and he looked down at Bluestreak, who was looking back up at him.

"I've never been one for games, even when I was your age," Prowl told him. "Play with Jazz and the others if you like, but I don't feel that it would be befitting for a mech of my position…"

Bluestreak stepped a little closer so he was looking almost straight up at Prowl, his other hand coming up to rest next to his other one as his wings lowered and his optics became just a little bit shiner and his bottom lip jutted out just slightly, looking smaller and more vulnerable than Prowl had seen him before, not unlike a turbo puppy who had just been kicked and didn't understand what he had done to deserve, but was very sorry anyway.

"…to participate for more than a breem or two."

Bluestreaks wings perked right back up as he gave his Caretaker the most radiant smile he had ever seen, and Prowl completely forgot why he had been so against this 'venture' in the first place.

Prowls entry into the game was awkward at first, but after a few klicks of watching everyone else and getting a feel for the unofficial rules, he caught on pretty fast. He caught on even faster once he discovered that his battle computer was surprisingly useful in this situation, much to Bluestreaks delight, and prompting everyone else to gang up and try to soak the still dry strategist. The water game eventually degenerated into running and sliding around on the slick floor, turning the room into an impromptu slip-n-slide, then into a game rink where the adults played a game of turbo ball, improvising goals with setting up empty bottles and using their respective younglings as the pucks, to their delight. Bluestreak didn't shriek with delight and demand "Faster! Faster!" like the twins did, but he practically glowed with mirth as he spun around across the floor.

Jazz paused for a klick when he heard another mech laughing. He actually looked up to see if someone had walked by the still open door and had stayed to watch to show.

But, there was no one at the door. Confused, Jazz glanced around looking for the mysterious laughing mech…until he saw Prowl.

Prowl was, for the first time since Jazz met him, _smiling_ and _laughing_. It wasn't a huge laugh, not like the bellows that were Ironhides trademark, or as high spirited as Sideswipes. It was more like a hearty chuckle than anything, but it was his own spark felt laugh as he played with his temporary ward, pushing him across the wet floors.

Jazz was so startled to see such expression from the stoic Prowl he actually froze in mid motion, his CPU going completely blank at the first ever honest to Primus time anyone heard Prowl laugh. He paid for it when he missed catching Sunstreaker and let the yellow youngling slide past to crash upside down into the wall, to Sideswipe's hilarity.

At the end of it all, three tired younglings and three exhausted mechs rested against opposite walls, facing each other but in their own groups, with their respective Praxians in the centers. Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, and Sideswipe were writing messages to each other using Bluestreaks small datapad, passing it among themselves like secret messages under the instructor's olfactory sensor.

"So…anybody wanna tell me how our youngling count tripled last time I checked?" Jazz asked.

"That would be my fault," Red Alert confessed. "When Optimus contacted me about the Security Director job, my first reaction was to thank him, but inform him that I could not accept any posting that separated me from my brothers. He immediately invited me to bring them as well, after asking how old they were."

"Is that so?" Prowl said simply.

"It's hardly going to be a permanent arrangement," Red Alert added quickly. "They're on a list for safe houses. As soon as there is an opening someplace I'm satisfied with, I'll send them there for the duration of the war."

"But you're keepin' them with ya 'till then?" Jazz asked.

"I have full trust in the Contingents ability to protect the Neutral camps and shuttles between Neutral cities," Red Alert said. "But I know my brothers better than anyone. It's better for me to watch them for as long as I can and let the femmes concentrate on the younglings who don't have anyone else."

"A military base will always be a target," Prowl pointed out. "Bluestreak is here because he's trapped by circumstance. But you could have sent your brothers to the Contingent before they were pinned down. Aren't you worried about what will happen if we're attacked?"

"Constantly," Red Alert answered bluntly. "Just like how I would be constantly thinking and worrying about them if I passed them onto someone else. At least here I can take measures to keep them as safe as possible, and as Security Director I have far more resources than a foster family will have."

"An' helpin' th' rest of us is just a perk," Jazz said, half in jest.

"Yes, well, whatever works," Red Alert replied with a shrug.

Prowl recalled how the red and white had gone over the security with the metaphorical fine tooth comb, zooming in on the most miniscule of imperfections and treating every atom sized hole as if it were a breach in defenses with glowing signs pointing the way for Decepticons.

"Is that why you're so careful with security?" he asked.

"Partly," Red Alert admitted carefully. "It's the only way I can be sure I'm doing everything I can, by asking myself every time 'do I trust this to keep them safe.' Even if the odds are a million to one, the impossible only has to happen once for either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe to pay the price. I could never forgive myself if that ever happened."

Prowls optics flickered to Bluestreak.

"I think I understand," he said quietly.

"Well, I for one am glad that Blue's got some playmates now," Jazz said brightly, breaking the somber mood that had started to settle. "Kid really needed it. Frag, _I_ needed it. Can't remember the last time I felt this relaxed, an' I'm guessin' you two did too."

"At the utter expense of our dignity, I might add," Prowl said dryly. "We're just lucky that no one came by and saw us like that. I would never be able to get anyone to take me seriously again."

"Nah, it'd just show everyone yer just like th' rest of us, Prowler."

"That would hardly excuse my…excuse me. Did you just call me 'Prowler'?"

"Yep. S'your new nickname. His is gonna be 'Red,' just so ya know."

"How original," Red Alert deadpanned.

Prowl raised an optic ridge at the saboteur. "I was under the impression that a nickname was supposed to be shorter than the full name for sake of convenience if the full name was too long. However, it is for that reason that I do not _need_ a nickname. My name is only one syllable long."

"Exactly. Can't exactly make it any shorter, 'cuz what would I call ya? Pro? Pow? Prl?"

"Jazz, you DO know what a 'prowler' is, do you not?"

"Yeah. So what's your point?"

"What's Bluestreaks story anyway?" Red Alert asked curiously.

Prowl sobered slightly. "We found him in what was left of Praxus a couple of orns after the attack."

Red Alerts optics widened. "Ohh…"

He was silent for a long moment.

"What would have been after the Contingent was pinned down by Shockwaves forces, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"That's right," Jazz said, leaning forward on his drawn up knee to speak to Red Alert from across Prowl. "So we're holdin' him in the meantime. Since Blue took such a likin' t' Prowler here ("My names not Prowler, its Prowl.") he gets t' be his interim Caretaker."

"So that's what you meant by 'trapped by circumstances,'" Red Alert mused. "Does this mean you will be sending him to the Contingent once it is safe again?"

"That is the plan, yes," Prowl took over. "But we don't anticipate that happening for another four or five deca-orns."

"More like three." Jazz put in.

"Pardon?"

"Blue's been here for one deca-orn already, so it's closer to three left, maybe four tops," Jazz corrected.

"…That's right. Thank you Jazz."

That was the plan, Prowl had known this perfectly well and completely agreed with it. The HQ was reasonably adequate for a temporary safe house, but it was no place for a youngling to stay indefinitely. Even Red Alert acknowledged that. For the sake of his safety and to have a chance at a normal life, Bluestreak needed to be taken to a real home with foster parents who could give him what he needed. These were the indisputable facts, and Prowl knew it would be illogical to argue otherwise.

So why did his spark feel so heavy all of a sudden?

"Bluestreak is the quietest youngling I've ever met, but he's doing better than I would have expected considering what he must have gone through," Red Alert was saying. "Even the twins have taken a shine to him, and they hardly ever let anyone in. I'm still trying to figure out how Bluestreak managed it."

"Blue's been gettin' adopted by just about everyone who so much as looks at him," Jazz said with a grin, leaning back against the wall. "Kids somethin' special a'ight."

Prowl let his head fall back and his gaze fall naturally on the grey and red youngling directly in front on him, covering his mouth and silently giggling at whatever Sunstreaker had written while Sideswipe leaned over him to smack his brother lightly on the shoulder. The three of them were already acting like fast friends even with the age difference.

Unbeknownst to Prowl, a small, fond smile formed as his expression subtly softened into something akin to affection.

_Yes. He is._

~ Meanwhile, with the younglings ~

_So you really can't talk? Is your vocalizer broken or something?_

**I don't think so. It's more like, I can think the words I want to say, but they get stuck in my throat whenever I try to talk. Sometimes it gets so bad, I feel like I'm choking, so I stop trying.**

THAT SUCKS. DOESN'T IT GET ANNOYING USING THE DATAPAD ALL THE TIME?

**Sometimes, especially when some of the adults here start talking at me.**

_Don't you mean "to me?"_

**No, I mean "at me." They're not mean or anything, but I can kind of tell they don't expect me to be able understand everything they're saying, and usually they're talking so much I don't have time to type anything before they're already talking about something else. It gets really boring, and annoying, having mechs talk to me like I'm a sparkling. At least Prowl and Jazz talk to me like I'm normal.**

SO JUST TUNE OUT THOSE OTHER BOTS NEXT TIME AND THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE, LIKE YOUR FAVORITE VID. SO LONG AS YOU SMILE AND NOD OCCASIONLLY THEY'LL NEVER NOTICE YOU STOPPED LISTENING. NOT LIKE THE BOTS YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT WOULD CARE ANYWAY.

_I have to agree. You're already smarter than most of the adults I know, so you'd better just tune those morons out before they dumb you down to their level. _

_Sideswipe, why are all your messages in caps?_

BECAUSE IT GIVES ME AWESOME MIND CONTROL POWERS.

_How the slag does it give you mind control powers?!_

BECAUSE WHEN YOU READ MY MESSAGES, IT'S LIKE I'M YELLING IN YOUR HEADS.

…

I FIND THAT TO BE SO COOL.

_I find you to be an idiot._

_YOU'RE_ THE ONE WHO WROTE OUT THE INCREDULOUS SILENCE, SMARTAFT!

**He's got a point, Sunstreaker. **

_Traitor._

**What are you guys doing here, anyway? Are any other younglings going to be coming? Where are they all going to stay? I don't think Prowl's room is going to be big enough for everyone. Red Alerts room would have to be really big to fit everyone. Is he your Caretaker?**

UM, WE'RE HERE BECAUSE RED IS, AS FAR AS I KNOW WE'RE THE ONLY YOUNGLINGS HERE, REDS ROOM IS AVERAGE I GUESS, AND YEAH, REDS OUR CARETAKER, SORT OF. HE'S ACTUALLY OUR BIG BROTHER, BUT HE GOT CUSTODY AFTER OUR CREATORS DIED.

_Did you just spell out 'um?'_

MUTE IT SUNSTREAKER.

Bluestreak was still stuck on what was, to him, a world shaking revelation.

**So Red Alert is your Caretaker AND your brother?**

_Yeah. Our creators died when we were really young, and since Red Alert is our closest relative, he got custody. He's been raising us ever since, so I guess technically he's our Caretaker too. Kind of like you and Prowl._

DON'T LOOK AT US LIKE THAT BLUE. EVEN I CAN TELL HE'S YOUR BROTHER.

_Yes, even 'he' can tell, Bluestreak. _

ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME AGAIN?

_Wait, he IS your brother, right? Or is it more like a cousin or something?_

Bluestreak started to correct them, Prowl wasn't his brother, he just found him, he was just lucky that Prowl was his Caretaker.

Except…

When Bluestreak thought of it, of what it would be like to have Prowl for a brother, something inside of him glowed and felt warm. Something about it was…familiar, in the nicest way possible. An older sibling that took care of him in the place of Creators, who talked to him, kept him close, chased away the nightmares and protected him…it just clicked.

Red Alert was their brother, AND their Caretaker. Prowl was already his Caretaker, and he was, he was familiar, and he couldn't remember his family anyway, so it wasn't like it was impossible, and if it was real, then…

**Yes, he's my brother. **

I KNEW IT!

**But you have to keep it a secret. Prowl says we can't tell too many bots about it.**

_Why?_

**I'm not sure. That's just what Prowl said.**

GOTCHA. MY LIPS ARE SEALED.

_They will be after I seal them for you. _

YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO FAITH IN MY DISCRETION, DO YOU?

_Of course not. I know better than that. _

Sideswipe reached over and lightly smacked Sunstreaker on the shoulder while Bluestreak silently chuckled into his hand.

Prowl as his brother. Just thinking of it filled him with a sense of warmth, and it surprised even him how much better it made him feel. It was like something had been missing and he hadn't realized it until he saw it. He had forgotten everything, but right now, he felt like he had just gotten back something precious.

Even if it was only pretending, it was enough for now.

Bluestreak glanced over at Prowl, just in time to catch the look on his face.

If he had breath, it would have taken it away.

Prowl's head was tilted slightly, with a small smile and soft optics, an expression Bluestreak had never seen before. It was fond, it was gentle, it was lo- it was the way you look at someone who was, who was…who mattered. Who was prec- Bluestreak couldn't even bring himself to think the words lest it prove to be wrong, except he knew that look because he recognized it from somewhere

_Soft blue optics glowed and a small gentle smile of fond amusement head tilted a bit watching him and his antics just like all the times before, that same soft fond smile_

as if he had seen it a hundred times before, even if he couldn't remember his spark remembered what it felt like because he had seen it so many times.

But in the exact same klick he realized he remembered that look (that "fond" look that you save for only certain bots like little brothers you took care of because you l- you cared for them) he realized that the look Prowl was giving him now it was totally, absolutely, completely **wrong**.

_Dark grey helm with dark green chevron and a rounder younger face_

It was so close but so different and so familiar and so wrong and the difference is so subtle and stark and contrasting it almost physically hurts and he doesn't understand **why**

_Pulls him in for tight hugs like the dozens, no, hundreds of times before, and a light laugh and gentle voice that says _

Except that now it feels like he's missing something huge and important and he can't remember what it is, and it's breaking his spark and it **hurts**.

"_I love you so much, you know that Bitty Brother?"_

Plip. Plip. Plip.

Prowl expression switched to shocked worry as he hurriedly stood up. "Bluestreak?"

Bluestreak shuttered his optics, realizing belatedly that he was crying again.

"I didn't do it this time!" Sunstreaker called out quickly, throwing his hands up and leaning away from the grey youngling next to him.

Prowl kneeled down in front of the Praxian youngling, who was rubbing at his optics and the tears that just kept coming.

"Bluestreak, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

Bluestreak shook his head, because even he didn't know what was wrong (it was wrong, it was all wrong wrong **wrong** but he couldn't remember **why**) except that it made him sad and his spark hurt and that Prowl (so familiar so different and **wrong**) was making it worse.

Jazz and Red Alert came over as well, and the twins were kneeling on either side of the crying youngling, looking concerned but utterly lost as to what they were supposed to do, never having had to comfort younglings before.

Prowl pulled Bluestreak close, stunning him into brief stillness, gathered him up in his arms and stood, with one arm beneath Bluestreaks knees and the other behind his back, mindful of the wings. Jazz was struck by the similarity with how they had looked the first time he had seen Bluestreak, with Prowl coming out of the ashes with the youngling in his arms.

"I'm taking him back to my quarters," Prowl told them all. "Red Alert, I'm afraid the rest of our meeting is going to have to wait for another time."

"Of course," Red Alert said with a nod. "Take as much time as you need."

Prowl gave a quick nod to them all, before leaving with the quietly crying Bluestreak in his arms. Red Alert sighed, and pulled his brothers to their pedes as well.

"We might as well head back ourselves," he said. "Break time is over, and we do still need to go over your punishment for wandering around the base unsupervised when I explicably told you to wait."

"Bolts. I was hoping you forgot about that," Sideswipe muttered. Red Alert placed a servo in the middle of their shoulders and guided them both out the door, stopping briefly when Sunstreaker gathered some items by the door.

Jazz cycled a breath of air as he rubbed the back of his neck. No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't pin what set Bluestreak off like that. One klick he was smiling and looking just dandy, then he takes one look at Prowl and starts bawling. Primus. He prided himself on his ability to read bots, but he was no psychologist. He had no way of being able to discern what was going on inside Bluestreaks head. They all assumed he was doing alright, but…

"Maybe he ain't doin' as good as we thought," Jazz muttered.

Jazz then became aware of another thing: water all over the floors, the tiles sudsy from spilt solvent, empty bottles scattered all over the place, and he was the last mech in the room…which meant clean up duty fell to him.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!"

oOoOoOo

"Here. Drink this."

Bluestreak accepted the cube of warm light oil, the fragrance already settling his nerves. He sipped slowly, letting the warmth fill his tanks and spread through his body. He could even taste the sweetness of the rust on his glossa. Prowl sat down next to him on the berth with a fair amount of space between them, simply waiting. Mainly because, after the drink, Prowl had absolutely no idea what to do. Primus, the only reason he thought of the oil was because he overheard Hound mention one time as something he liked to use to relax.

Not for the first time, Prowl wished there was an instruction manual for this sort of thing.

Bluestreak tilted the cube back as he drank the last of the oil, licking the rim for the last few drops. Prowl cleared his vocalizer (he was NOT stalling!) and Bluestreak froze.

"Are you ready to ta- to tell me about it?" Prowl asked as neutrally as he could, looking straight ahead.

Bluestreak dropped his optics and focused on the cube he held in his lap. Prowl waited for several long klicks, but it was already obvious that Bluestreak wasn't going to say anything. Prowl was no good at comforting or seeing into the heart of personal matters. For an instant, he was overcome with an urge to call Jazz in and let him handle the youngling before he had a chance to mess it up.

Then again, if he did, Jazz would probably tell him that he had to do this himself. He was remarkably perceptive/useless like that.

For lack of a better idea, Prowl started the only way he knew how: stating the truth.

"I can't pretend to understand what you've been through," Prowl started slowly. "What you've been through…I can't pretend to know exactly how you feel or what your experience was like. You have…you are an incredibly strong bot, Bluestreak. But you shouldn't have to be."

Bluestreak tentatively looked at his Caretaker from the corner of his optics, who kept looking straight ahead.

"You don't have to tell me everything in you don't want to," Prowl went on. "But I want you to know, nothing you tell me will change the way I think of you. You are brave, strong, gentle, smart, and considerate. Nothing will change that."

Bluestreak scooted just slightly closer, as if testing the waters, or trying to better hear was Prowl was saying. The mech paused, lifted one arm, hesitantly placed it around Bluestreaks shoulders

_Pulls him in for tight hugs like the dozens, no, hundreds of times before_

and lets it settle there as he finally looks down at him.

"I want you to know that, when you are ready to open up to me, I'll listen. Tell me what you want, and I'll do what I can to help you. It isn't much, but it's all I can offer."

Bluestreak almost broke right then and there. He wanted to much to _speak_, to verbalize the **wrongness** he had felt in the washracks, because if Prowl knows, then maybe he'll fix it and then it'll be **right** again just like before (except he lost "before", all he has is "now"), he wanted to use his voice and let his spark pour out like a sparkling to the one he trusted the most…

Except the tight, choking feeling came back and suffocated all his words.

He almost started crying again. He wanted so much to talk, but he couldn't. He was too scared.

So instead, he scooted in a little closer and leaned into Prowl as he wrapped his arm a little more tightly around him. Slowly, experimentally, he lowered himself as he laid down until his head was settled on Prowls lap. He kept stiff, ready to move, until Prowl traced a finger along the edge of his wing in a comforting fashion. Only then did Bluestreak fully relax, letting his optics offline as Prowl slowly scratched his wings.

It still didn't…fit. It was still off, it wasn't quite right with his non-memory that his mind forgot but his spark remembered.

But it was enough.

**=== Omake ===**

Several joors later, there was a loud knocking at the door. Frowning, Prowl stood and walked to the door, leaving the almost napping youngling on the berth watching him. Prowl keyed the door open, but when it slid open there was no one there. It took him a klick to realize he needed to direct his attention lower than he was used to.

"Is Bluestreak still here?" Sunstreaker asked, looking annoyed that he had to be there at all.

The aforementioned youngling, hearing his name, scooted off the berth and came over. His previous confidence spurred by playful abandon gone, he kept at least five paces away with his hands up at his chest, looking shy and a bit nervous (Sunstreaker was just so hard to predict sometimes, and he didn't want him to get all scary again).

"Is there something I can help you with?" Prowl asked, a little more sharply than he strictly needed to. Sunstreaker didn't look at Prowl, only focusing on the increasingly nervous Bluestreak.

"This is yours, right?"

Sunstreaker stuck out a hand and held out a knotted grey blanket with one hand like it was something filthy and vile.

Bluestreak lit up like city lights and grabbed the doll, hugging it close. He looked up at Sunstreaker and silently watched him, held tilted in a fashion Prowl recognized as his way of trying to ask a question.

"You left in the washracks, stupid," Sunstreaker told him. "Red told me where you guys were, so here it is."

Bluestreak came closer and pressed a hand against the older younglings upper arm, granting him a sincere, grateful smile.

"Yeah whatever," Sunstreaker said, looking a bit uncomfortable. Without another word he left down the hall, presumably back to Red Alert quarters.

Prowl watched him go with a raised optic ridge. Well. It would appear that the yellow twin wasn't entirely self centered after all.

"What do you think of the twins?" Prowl asked as he closed the door.

Bluestreak shifted his grip on Silverstreak so he could type out his answer.

**Sideswipe doesn't think a lot, and he's pretty careless sometimes, but he's fun and he laughs a lot, so I like him.**

"Interesting. And Sunstreaker?"

Bluestreak considered for a few klicks before answering.

**He's kind of scary, but he's not mean. I think I like him too.**

"I'm glad you have other younglings to play with now," Prowl said as he sat back on his berth. He made room for Bluestreak to sit again, and the youngling, feeling more comfortable with the new direction of conversation, hopped up next to him. "You should have someone closer to your age to talk to. But if they ever start bullying you, let me know and I'll speak to Red Alert about it. Also, don't let them pressure you into doing anything you don't want to just because they're older."

Bluestreak nodded as he listened. Then he frowned.

**They used some words I don't know. Can you explain them for me?**

"Certainly." Prowl said, pleased that the twins were helping to expand Bluestreaks vocabulary. "Which ones do you want to know?"

Bluestreak pondered as he tried to remember some of the big words the twins had used.

**Prowl, what does frag mean?**

oOoOoOo

"Red Alert, we need to talk."


	7. Voice

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

Ch. 7 – Voice

The following morning found Prowl up and at his personal terminal while Bluestreak continued to slumber on. For once, he wasn't working. This was personal research. At the moment, pulled up on his screen was all the known current information of the last Emirate of Praxus.

The mech had been Emirate for a little over two hundred vorns now, one of the longest careers in political history, and certainly longer than any other current Emirate. His longevity in office was often accredited to the trust he managed to garner from the bots he ruled over, their trust in him to put their welfare and safety above all else. He was hailed by many to be incorruptible, and while he was a mech of few words his actions spoke volumes. He had few close friends, but even those who didn't like him personally (and frankly, he was a bit hard to sincerely _like_) couldn't help but respect him. Even his most staunch opposers, when they spoke of him, did so with a touch of admiration.

Almost none of this was included in the Emirates profile. Prowl was only filling in the blanks from his own memories and impressions of the mech.

The available data were all facts he already knew. But there was one new, significant change:

_Current status: off-line. Cause of Deactivation: casualty of war._

Prowl couldn't say he was surprised. Had the Emirate somehow survived or escaped the attack, his sense of duty and desire to help the remaining, scattered Praxians left would have prompted his rising up out of the cogworks by now. True, his body had not yet been found. But 80% of the bodies that had been found had not yet been identified, and it could be vorns before a complete list of the casualties could be compiled. The Emirates fate had been to die as quickly and anonymously as everyone else.

How…anti-climatic.

A new window popped up, alerting Prowl to a new message. Dutifully, he went ahead and opened it. His wings rose sharply as he saw what it was: a summons to see Lockout in his office, before he took Bluestreak to Ratchet for his checkup. There was no explanation as for why.

Prowl looked over at Bluestreak, splayed out on his cot with his doll pulled up close, mouth slightly opened as he cycled slowly, for once undisturbed by nightmares.

Lockout had not requested a specific time, and it was early yet. Meeting with the 2iC could wait a joor or two until Bluestreak was finished sleeping.

oOoOoOo

Prowl wasn't sure what to do with Bluestreak during the meeting. He was fairly certain Lockout was going to want it to be private, but after what happened last time Prowl wasn't too keen on leaving him alone again either. Granted it had turned out alright, but still.

He found his unexpected solution leaving Lockouts office with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face just as he and Bluestreak were walking up.

"Jazz?" Prowl said, mildly surprised.

The saboteur turned to Prowl, his frown immediately brightening into a sincere smile.

"Hey Prowler," (the tactician tried hard not to grimace at the nickname) "You got called up too?"

"It would seem so," Prowl said. He paused and waited as Bluestreak came out from behind him and hurried over to give Jazz his customary hug.

"What did Lockout want to see you for?" Prowl asked once Jazz had straightened again.

Jazz's smile faded slightly. "Prolly for th' same thing he wants t' see _you_ for."

Before Prowl could question Jazz about his cryptic answer (they don't share any missions and very few duties, what could Lockout want with the both of them?), the other mech beat him to the punch.

"You want me t' keep a watch on Blue here?" he offered, settling a servo on top of the younglings helm. "I got 'bout a breem before I gotta be anywhere, and Lockout shouldn't take that long."

"If you could, it would be appreciated," Prowl said. "So long as Bluestreak is alright with it."

Bluestreak nodded, putting his little servos up so they rested on top of Jazz's own.

"Good. Hopefully this will be as quick as Jazz believes it will."

Lockout was waiting for him when Prowl came in. He was sitting back in his chair, watching the tactician coolly, and even the empathetically challenged Prowl could detect the disapproval the 2iC was radiating. Prowl quickly went through a mental checklist of any and all reasons Lockout would have to be upset with him. He came up clean: he had broken no regulations, his duties have been done in a timely manner, and he knew he continued to do good work. Clearly, whatever it was that Lockout was upset about had nothing to do with Prowl personally.

Prowl stood at attention in front of Lockouts desk. "You wanted to see me sir?"

"I did," Lockout said. He gestured to one of the chairs. "Have a seat."

Prowl did so, even as Lockout watched him coldly. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as the rest of him.

"You may not be a member of the High Command, but you still hold a coveted position in direct service to the Prime. Your actions and conduct still reflect back on him, and as such you have a responsibility to maintain a certain level of decorum and professionalism."

Prowl, who more often than not was accused of being TOO professional, was now thoroughly confused.

"Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand what you are talking about."

"I'm talking about the mayhem you participated in inside the wash racks yesterorn."

Prowls tanks froze.

"I don't care what you choose to do in your free time, barring illegal activities," Lockout went on, interlacing his fingers and leaning forward with his elbows on his desk. "But I had hoped you would at least have the discretion to conduct yourself properly in a public area. I will be speaking to Red Alert later about this as well, but just because he, an officer, had chosen participate does not exempt you from judgment."

Prowl remained externally stoic, but internally he was burning in humiliation. Bad enough he was seen acting in such a manner at all. But by an officer? The Second in Command himself? It was like his worst nightmare come to life. Having Lockout see him acting like a sparkling was almost worse than being seen by the Prime; at least Optimus had enough of a sense of humor to let it slide. Lockout would be considerably less…merciful.

"I offer my most sincere apologies for my gross break in conduct, sir," Prowl said. "I can only promise that it will not happen again."

Lockouts optics narrowed in a frown.

"I believe that you regret being caught in the act, Prowl, especially by me," he said. "But answer me truthfully – do you regret the act itself?"

Prowl started to answer 'of course' or perhaps with a more respectful 'yes sir, I do'. But even as he began, he stopped. Sure, it was humiliating as nothing else being seen, but now he was remembering what it was like to actually (and he still couldn't quite believe he was even thinking the word) _play_, something he couldn't remember doing since he was younger than Bluestreak. That line of thought brought up other memories, of how the youngling had opened up and relaxed, had smiled, had laughed, had pulled Prowl into his game simply because he wanted to include him, had been so clearly, purely happy.

The realization hit Prowl like a runaway shuttle, and even as he answered, he sounded slightly awed by his own words.

"No, I don't."

Lockout didn't react, except for a slight tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What have you done for Bluestreak while you're working?" he asked.

The sudden change in topic caught Prowl off guard. "I…he usually finds ways to occupy himself. He particularly seems to enjoy drawing, and since I started taking my work into the rec room, he's had a chance to interact with some of the other bots here, the ones he's most comfortable with at least."

Lockout frowned, that special 'I-highly-disapprove-of-your-very-existence' vibe of his returning full force.

"That isn't good enough," he said firmly, almost angrily. "Younglings aren't like turbodogs; you can't just feed and clean up after them and assume that's all they need."

Prowl hand clenched in his lap.

He didn't appreciate the implication that he was being negligent in his duties as Bluestreaks Caretaker, or that he was completely ignorant of the younglings needs. But then again, he also knew there was very little he could say in his defense, except that there wasn't much else he could actually do, and that was a pitiful defense by anyone's standards. Still, Lockout was a commanding officer, and Prowl would not backtalk to him.

But Lockout didn't seem interested in needling Prowl. Instead, he pushed back and reached down into a drawer. When he came back up, he was holding a data chip between his fingertips.

"There is an aptitude test on here for Bluestreaks age group," Lockout explained as he held it out to Prowl. "Have Bluestreak complete it and return it to me by tomorrow, sooner if you can. It should give us an idea of where he is in his studies and what education packet would suit him best."

Prowl, having just accepted the data chip, looked back at Lockout with surprise.

"Red Alert brought his own packets for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," Lockout went on, as if not noticing Prowls reaction. "I still don't believe any of the younglings should be here, but if they must be then their lives should be allowed to continue as normally as possible, if we can manage it without compromising other functions in the base. That includes continuing their educations. Red Alert already has his own system regarding his brother's home schooling, but you'll have to come up with your own for Bluestreak."

Prowl looked down at the chip, then back up at Lockout in understanding.

"Did Elita send this for you to pass on to me?" he asked.

Lockouts expression remained impassive. "No."

Prowl stared.

"That will be all Prowl. You are dismissed."

The Praxian stood, gave a quick salute, and turned to leave.

"Prowl."

Stop, servo already on the key pad, looking back at Lockout expressionlessly, simply waiting for what came next. Lockout granted him a small smirk.

"Next time you want to have an impromptu water fight in the wash racks, do us all a favor and at least remember to close the door."

"………I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Jazz was holding Bluestreak upside down by the pedes as he helped the youngling walk around the room on his servo's. In a sign that he was learning to accept odd happenings with increasing grace, Prowl barely flickered an optic at the sight.

"Hey Prowl, how'd it go?" Jazz asked as he carefully put Bluestreak down.

Prowl fingered the data chip in his servo.

"Worse than I had thought, better than you had assumed," he answered.

oOoOoOo

"Alright Bluestreak, just stand over here and let me run the general scan over you," Ratchet instructed.

The grey youngling looked up at Prowl briefly, and waited for his quick nod before he did as the medic told him, standing clear in the middle of the room and allowing the scan to pass over him with just a slight flinch.

Unlike the last time he visited the med bay mere joors after being found in the ruins of Praxus, Bluestreak seemed slightly more comfortable with his surroundings and the medic. Or at least, he didn't look ready to bolt at the first perceived wrong move. But he still kept looking to Prowl as if for approval or reassurance, or perhaps just to check to make sure he hadn't evaporated when he wasn't looking. When he wasn't watching Prowl, he was keeping an optic on Ratchet with the most intensity the adult Praxian had seen out of him yet, especially when the CMO took out a new tool. Ratchet, picking up on the youngsters tight nervous energy, would stop to explain each and every tool and what it was meant to do before continuing on with his examination.

Prowl had already had to chase of one mech who had stopped to gape at the door when the sight of Ratchet being patient and understanding to someone who _wasn't_ unconscious on their death bed proved to be a little too hard for him to comprehend.

Speaking of whom, Prowl observed and noted Bluestreaks behavior carefully. Bluestreak had made no mention of any of his memories returning, yet he maintained an almost reflexive apprehension of doctors. Well, perhaps not doctors per se, but something about this environment made him far too anxious. Especially so, considering the trauma of Praxus had forced him to repress nearly all his memories but the bare essentials for functioning. So either Bluestreak was remembering something that was sparking this apprehension and had chosen not to share it with Prowl for some reason, or the experience was something so strong and/or repetitive that it ingrained in him this instinctual anxiety even when he could no longer recall the original event.

Prowl wasn't sure which he found more unsettling.

_: : Prowl. Mind stepping out for a bit? : :_

The named mech straightened at the summons. A quick glance told him that Bluestreak was being occupied by an optic examination. He wouldn't notice if Prowl stepped out for a short bit, and there was no need to cause further anxiety by making him aware of it.

_: : Certainly, but I'm afraid it will have to be quick. : :_

_: : Don't worry, this'll only take a klick. : : _

Prowl pushed himself off the wall and after checking again that Bluestreak was suitably distracted, quietly walked away and stepped out of the bay. The waiting Sidestep raised a servo in greeting.

"Thanks Prowl. This'll be quick, I know how Blue hate's to be separated from you."

"He seems more upset about being alone than being away from be specifically, but he doesn't appear comfortable in the med bay," Prowl felt obligated to explain. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Sidestep held up a data chip for Prowl in a manner eerily similar to what Lockout had done earlier. "You know the construction going on for the volatile material storage unit? Someone needs to check up on it and make sure it's all going good and no one is missing anything. Techninally the progress need to be approved by an officer, but none of us are going to be available to check it ourselves for a good deco-orn or two if we're lucky. We'd rather have it signed off sooner than later so the mechs can hurry and get it done though, so Prime figured you'd be a pretty good candidate to go for us. Are you up for that?"

Had Prowl been any other mech, he would have gone completely blank in disbelief at the incredible show of implied trust and responsibility in an assignment personally handed to him by the High Command. But since this was Prowl, his logic computer stepped up to the plate and quickly but ruthlessly weighed his known abilities and matched them to the assignment for compatibility and probability to carry it out adequately (read: perfectly).

"Of course sir," Prowl said, taking the data chip.

It was hardly a glamorous assignment, but what Sidestep had essentially done was assign Prowl to be the optics and audios for the Prime himself, and heavy and weighty responsibility, and it spoke volumes of Optimus', and by extension the rest of the officers for agreeing to it, trust in Prowls observations and judgments. He could never turn down a request from Optimus himself.

Still, there was still one outstanding issue.

"What about Bluestreak?" Prowl asked. "I can hardly take him into the construction zone."

Sidestep shrugged. "You just said he's mostly fine so long as he has company. There's bound to be SOMEBODY who'll be able to watch him for a few joors while you're gone. If not, maybe he can wait at the edge of the site where-"

Sidestep was interrupted y the sound of heavy crashing and clattering.

Prowl and Sidestep froze for half a klick before they moved and as one burst through the med bay doors.

"What's going on?" Prowl tried to demand, almost at the same time as Sidestep. But the question died on both their lips as the self-explanatory sight fully registered with them both.

Ratchet stood in the middle of the room, hands up and out, frozen in shocked horror, while Bluestreak – trembling, frightened, close to tears Bluestreak – huddled under one of the movable tables, the floor around him littered with tools and containers that had been knocked off when he had dashed for cover, the clattering sound from before. One of the fallen tools had been a laser scalpel, the reason for Ratchets current horror; Bluestreak now held the small but dangerous energy blade out in front of him towards the CMO with both his trembling servo's.

Prowl felt his tanks lurch.

"Bluestreak!" he exclaimed.

The youngling turned his head just slightly enough to catch Prowl in his peripheral vision without taking his main focus off the frozen medic. His already impossibly wide optics widened even more, if marginally, but other than that he did nothing else.

"When Bluestreak noticed you were gone, he panicked," Ratchet explained quietly, not wanting to risk upsetting the youngling even more. "I only turned by back for a couple of klicks, and he…"

He hardly needed to finish. Prowl and Sidestep could already see what had happened next. Prowl could almost feel the pressure against the inside of his helm as his battle computer jumped into action, calculating all possible moves and options to remove the threat as quickly as possible. He sent a quick comm. to Sidestep, asking him to remain quiet and still and let him handle this, before he started circling around to approach Bluestreak in the most non-threatening manner possible.

"Bluestreak, put the scapel down now," Prowl ordered. "There is no need for this."

The younglings optics darted between Prowl and Ratchet.

"I don't know why you don't trust Ratchet, but at least trust me."

A few long klicks passed before Bluestreak crept out from under the table and came closer to Prowl. But even so, he kept the scalpel pointed at Ratchet until he was next to his Caretaker. Since he was so focused on the perceived danger that was the medic, he never saw Prowl moving until the blade was already pulled deftly from his servos.

"Excuse us Ratchet," Prowl said coolly as he set the tool aside at a safe height. "Bluestreak and I need to have a talk."

With that, Prowl grabbed Bluestreak firmly by one hand and pulled him out of the med bay. Sidestep moved to the side to allow them to pass, and watched them go with a contemplative frown. His contemplation was soon interrupted by a flying wrench.

KLANG!

"Ow! What the fragging pit did _I_ do?!"

Sidestep looked irritably back at Ratchet while rubbing his newly acquired dent, but his righteous annoyance was quickly replaced by Primus-forsaken terror that could only be inspired by the looming, furious CMO.

"_**What kind of stories have your mechs been telling him about me?"**_ he growled dangerously.

No matter what fault he may or may not hold, he already knew he was in deep slag.

oOoOoOo

Unprovoked aggression, threatening an officer, creating a disturbance…had this been commited by an Autobot, he would have been thrown into the brig to await a court martial. Prowl knew the rules and regulations and knew perfectly well what would have happened, what procedures to follow and what reports to write so it would all pass over as quickly and efficiently as possible, and so the offending soldier (clearly a mech no longer in his right mind and not to be trusted) to be thrown out of the army before he could cause any more damage.

But the perpertrator wasn't a solder. It was a youngling. It was the youngling entrusted to his care.

There were no regulations and procedures for Prowl to fall back on for this.

Prowl didn't even wait until they got back to his quarters. He found an empty conference room on the way and commandeered it for the orn. As soon as the door was closed he whirled around at Bluestreak. He had no experiences in how to deal with a youngling in this unique situation, so for lack of a better idea he proceeded as if he were speaking to an adult.

"You attacked the Chief Medical Officer unprovoked, Bluestreak," he said. "You could have hurt him, you could have seriously hurt yourself. I know Ratchet, he would never do anything to harm you. Tell me why you did it, now."

Bluestreak scrunched up his shoulders as he kept looking down. A spark of frustration flittered across Prowl, and he reached down and gripped Bluestreaks chin and forced him to look up. Even so, Bluestreak kept his optics adverted.

"Look me in the optic Bluestreak. I'm ordering you to tell me why you did it."

Prowl released his hold, and the young survivor started to bring his arm around to type out his answer on the data pad still clipped to his forearm. But he was halted by Prowls larger hand on his own.

"No Bluestreak. I've had enough of this; I want you to speak. I want you to use your voice and tell me what happened."

Bluestreak stared at him in shock for a klick before shaking his head and pointing at his throat. Prowl frowned.

"Don't try and give me that. I've heard you scream almost every night the first deca-orn you were here, I know full well that there's nothing wrong with your vocalizer."

Bluestreak kept shaking his head and tried to pull his arm away, but Prowl wasn't letting go.

"Use your words Bluestreak! There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't!"

But Bluestreak kept trying to pull away as his face twisted in frustration, and it a fit of anger he started hitting Prowls arm as hard as he could with his free hand. Shocked, Prowl had to use his other hand to stop the attack.

"Stop it!" Prowl ordered, his voice starting to rise. "Why are you acting like this? I'm asking you to do what we both know you are capable of doing. You have no rational reason to be angry at me."

Bluestreak snapped his head up angrily at Prowl, before the elder finally let him pull away. Now free, the youngling brought the data pad up and furiously tapped away his answer with enough force to threaten to crack the screen. It only took a few klicks to type out nine characters and two spaces, and he forcefully pulled the data pad off its magnetic klick and thrust the screen up towards Prowl like a weapon.

**You left me!**

"You were occupied by Ratchet, and I was only gone for 42 klicks," Prowl said, crossing his arms and looking down at Bluestreak. "The only reason it became a problem is because you chose to _make_ it a problem with that stunt of yours."

**You left me alone with the Doctor! You're my Caretaker, you're supposed to protect me!**

"There was nothing you needed protection _from_ in there. There was absolutely no danger to you or anyone in that room. The only danger was the danger YOU posed to yourself AND to Ratchet. How is it you can't understand that?"

**You! Left! Me!**

Bluestreak shook the data pad at Prowl, as if trying to make the typed words yells with his righteous anger. Prowl tried to counteract Bluestreaks misplaced emotions with the steady, cool calmness of rationale.

"You are being completely irrational, Bluestreak. If you would just stop and think logically for a few klicks, you would understand that, instead of getting so overly emotional over nothing."

Bluestreak was practically shaking with anger, now outright crying. For a moment, Prowl thought he was going to full out scream at him. Instead, in a fit of anger he pulled back his arm and threw his data pad full force at his Caretaker.

Purely on reflex, Prowl batted the projectile away so it hit the wall with a crack as its screen shattered and broke to pieces.

Adult and child stood there, just staring at each other in the heavy silence.

Bluestreak broke optic contact first, doorwings lowering as he put his servos together over his chest, looking downward. Gone was the righteous anger, replaced by awkwardness and shame. Prowl watched him for a few klicks, his expression blank and revealing nothing of his thoughts. It was nearly an eighth of a breem before he finally spoke, as soft as a whisper and deafeningly loud in long empty conference room, enough to make Bluestreak flinch.

"What am I supposed to do with you?"

BR-EEEP! BR-EEEP! BR-EEEP!

Bluestreak nearly jumped into the air at the sudden loud noise, but Prowl only stiffened at the alarm. The alarm was swiftly followed by the mechanical voice of Teletraan.

"INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! ALL PERSONAL TO POSITIONS!"

Without a moment's hesitation Prowl grabbed Bluestreaks servo and pulled him out from the room and down the hall. Bluestreak had to take long fast steps just to keep from tripping over his own pedes, that was how fast Prowl was going. As they hurried down the hall, Bluestreak swung his head every which way as more mechs than he remembered ever seeing in one place bustled through the halls with purpose, none of them sparing him so much as a glance.

He could feel his fuel pumps quickening with confusion and fear. What was all this? What was going on? Where was everyone going? Forget that, where was Prowl taking him? Where they under attack? Was it the Seekers, _was it the Seekers??_

Prowl stopped in front of one door and rapidly keyed in the pass code. Bluestreak only had enough time to realize he recognized the area before the door slid open and he was pushed inside to crash into a red chassis.

"Welcome to the party Blue," Sideswipe greeted with a grin that almost covered up how nervous he was.

Seated at the monitors just as he was when Prowl first met him, Red Alert turned his head to regard the tactician. "Good, you made it. Bluestreak will be safe here, hurry and take your position with the Prime; he's in the war room with Ironhide."

"Right."

Prowl didn't even spare Bluestreak a quick glance before he left the room as swiftly as he came, the door swishing closed behind him.

Confused and frightened, Bluestreak looked up at Sideswipe entreatingly. The elder youngling patted him on top of the helm in attempted comfort.

"Um, did Prowl ever get around to telling you about the 'emergency procedure's' or stuff like that?" Sideswipe asked.

Bluestreak just stared at him in bewilderment.

"That's probably a 'no'." Sunstreaker translated from his seat by the wall. "The mech never even bothered to explain to Bluestreak what was going on. Fragger."

Bluestreak stiffened and glared heatedly at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker matched him evenly.

"I'm only calling them as I see them, kid."

"Sunstreaker, don't even start, this isn't the time," Red Alert ordered, not taking his optics off the monitors. "The three of you, just sit down and be quiet."

For once, the twice didn't put up a fuss – the tension was too much, and even they could understand that their favorite activity of riling up their older brother wasn't worth it now. Bluestreak settled between the twins, listening as Sideswipe quietly tried to explain what was going on while Red Alert barked directions over the comm.

_: : Con traveling down corridor, 3-2-gamma, Mirage intercept, Trailbreaker meet him. : :_

_: : Trailbreaker injured, Patch rendezvous at location in point four seven breems, Cliffjumper cover him. Mirage in pursuit back up corridor 3-2-gamma. : :_

_: : Con evasion, attempting to divert him by locking out exits. : :_

_: : Diversion failed. Con now in inventory room, locking doors now. Prowl corner him, Mirage and Hound cover him. : :_

Prowl moved on automatic, hurrying to the inventory room without a second thought, acid pellet rifle in hand. Red Alerts voice was sharp and even, like controlled bursts of gunfire, and everyone followed his prompts like cogs in a well oiled machine, trusting him to be their optics from his place in the Security hub, where he had access to every camera and nearly every locked door in the base.

Prowl was completely focused and alert, his wings held high to catch every movement, every sound, every pattern of light and shadow that could possibly be their intruder, but for all his concentration he couldn't help the flash of his mind going to the younglings Red Alert was sharing his space and sanctuary with.

This eventuality of an attack, of an intruder, had not been left unconsidered. The evening Red Alert came with his brothers, and after all the younglings had gone to sleep, he and Red Alert discussed what to do in case a threat breached to the inner sanctum of the base. They came up with a few plans, the first being to keep all three of them in the Security Hub with Red Alert until the danger passed. Yes, it was a sensitive room and a valuable target, but it was also the most secure and well guarded room in the entire base, and nearly impossible to breach with anything short of a bomb – and anybody who wanted to salvage any of the invaluable information inside wouldn't risk explosives just to open the slagging door.

Bluestreak was in the safest place in the base. Since there was only one confirmed intruder, it was highly improbable that they would need to evacuate him and the twins. Right now, Prowl had to focus on getting to his station and doing his part: capturing the intruder as soon as possible before he could cause any damage, and learning how he got inside in the first place.

_: : Locks, locks not working, : : _Red Alert reported, the first sign of any emotion (surprise? Bewilderment?) filtering into his voice._ : : Con traveling down corridor 1-8-gamma, will come across Prowl in nine klicks at current pa…no, he's on top of you now! : : _

A dark green and blue mech appeared out of one of the side doors almost as soon as Red Alert uttered the last words.

The mech fired randomly down the hall at Prowl, clipping one of his wings before he was able to spin back and tuck himself into a doorway that opened up for him (thanks, Red Alert). The injury was practically screaming at him, so he turned off the sensors. It cut down his ability to sense his surroundings drastically, but at least the pain wouldn't be able to distract him.

Prowl poked out and shot off a few rounds, but the Decepticon had already ducked away down another door.

_: : Con escaped Prowl, traveling down corridor 1-8-epsilon, Prowl pursue, Mirage and Hound en route. : :_

Prowl hurried down the hallway to the door the Decepticon had gone too…and skidded to a halt.

There was a door, yes…but it was still secured shut from the lock down. More than that, the door way's location was in the wrong place, too far down to coincide with where the unknown intruder had gone.

Prowl's battle computer was running at full tilt, going through the intruders known locations and sporadic appearances, and the fact he didn't seem the least bit handicapped by the lockdown, something that was still slowing down the Autobots as they tried to mobilize around him. His path was admittedly erratic, but how was he able to travel so swiftly?

Bluestreak huddled between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Without his data pad, and their being too young to have private comm. links yet, they didn't have much other means of communication. Not that it mattered; none of them were in much mood to say much. Sideswipe kept watching Red Alert hands fly across the boards as he tracked the disappearing reappearing intruder as he moved like smoke in the wind, and Sunstreaker just glared at nothing, the only sign of his apprehension being the death grip he held on the hand that Bluestreak had snuck into his earlier. Bluestreak held both their hands in his, at first for his own comfort, then for theirs.

Bluestreak kept his knees drawn up close in a protective shell, optics closed and trying to concentrate on the two warm bodies on either side of him, the floor he sat on, Red Alerts barking voice, anything to keep him grounded in the here and now and not back at Praxus with the falling buildings and Seekers whistling past and…and…

His optics flashed on line.

Prowl. Prowl was out there now, and, and he was probably fighting the Decepticons now, keeping them away from here. What if they…what if he didn't…

NO! No, that wasn't going to happen! Prowl was smart, and he was strong, and he wouldn't leave like that! He had to come back, he just HAD too!

'_But he already left you alone once already,'_ the treacherous voice of his worst fears pointed out. _'How can you be sure that he'll come back this time? What makes you so sure he won't leave just like everyone else did?'_

A violent shudder passed through Bluestreak, and he ducked his head and off lined his optics, trying to banish the voice.

Prowl had to come back. He had to be okay. He couldn't…Bluestreak didn't have anyone else. He didn't even have Silverstreak with him. He didn't even have memories of anyone else to keep him company. Prowl had to come back. They couldn't let that fight be the last thing they said to each other. Prowl had to come back so he could say he was sorry, he had to say he was sorry and make it better. This was happening because he'd been bad, wasn't it? He did something horrible, and he was being punished for it, so Prowl had to come back so he could say he was sorry and so he could be good and never do anything bad again and make everything okay and-

Bluestreak's wings twitched.

His head snapped up and turned to the right, just as a black and green mech with bright red optics silently bled through the walls.

After that, it was as if the entire world was filled with a thick, heavy gel that just muffled everything and made everyone move in slow motion, slow enough to Bluestreak to see each and every detail. His mouth opened, to yell, to warn, to do something, but he was frozen and could only watch.

He saw the intruder turn and focus on Red Alert.

He saw him pull out a gun and point.

He saw Red Alert turn at the last klick, yelling something and pulling out his own gun.

He saw the gun go off.

He saw Red Alert fall out of his seat, the gun going flying from his limp hand.

He saw Red Alert fall to the ground with a smoking charred hole in his chassis.

He saw, and could do nothing else, not even scream.

_: : Con's in the Hub! Con's in the- : :_

Red Alert broke off into static. Prowl froze, and Hound and Mirage exchanged horrified looks.

"We're finished if the Decepticon is a good enough hacker to get past Teletraan's firewalls," Mirage said.

"Not happening." Hound said, a tad distractedly as he listened to the Prime shooting off instructions, who to break down the Hub door and get the 'Con out, who to hack into whatever terminals they could to virtually kick the 'Con out of the mainframe, and so forth. However, there was one order that the tracker found to be conspicuously absent.

"What about the younglings?" Hound questioned a loud. "I didn't think of it before, but who's watching them? Maybe we should find them, make sure they're safe. Pit, if this hits the fan we might have to get them out of here."

"Good idea," Mirage agreed with a nod. "Prowl, where are they right…now?"

Mirage and Hound finally realized that the place Prowl had been standing was conspicuously empty. What they had failed to notice was how he had run off full tilt before Hound had finished saying 'we're finished' and was already four corridors away as he hurried as fast as physically possible for the Security Hub.

The blaster shot had thrown Red Alert clear out of the chair he had half raised out of, making him fall hard and skidding backwards on the floor with the smoking, sparking hole in his chest. He twitched for a klick or two before going still. Bluestreak was completely frozen in disbelieving horror, not quite able to believe what had just happened.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, on the other hand, were a bit faster on the uptake.

"YOU GLITCH!" Sunstreaker roared, throwing himself at the stranger with all the physical fury he could muster

The blue and green mech had only half turned enough to show the look of complete surprise before Sunstreaker was tackling him. The momentum was enough to knock them both down to the floor with a crash and Sunstreaker was punching as hard as he could. The mech was trying to push him off and yelling something incoherent, but now Sideswipe was literally jumping into the fray and landing on one of the mechs shoulders, causing him to cry out in pain as the joint was crushed. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were like red and yellow storms of fury as they attacked the downed intruder with everything they had.

ZZZP!

Sunstreaker jolted and collapsed limply, to Sideswipes shock.

ZZZP!

Sideswipe paid for his distraction, and fell to the floor just like his brother.

Gingerly, the mech sat up, holding up the servo with the crackling stunner rod jutting out from his wrist. Aside from being liberally scuffed and a few new dents, only two of which that actually looked painful, he was none the worse for wear. He flicked his servo and the rod slid back into his wrist with a click.

"You know, I don't remember anyone saying 'Hey Phase Out, don't forget to watch out for psychotic younglings hiding in the shadow," he commented casually. "Come to think of it, just what the heck are a couple of younglings doing in a military base in the first place? I mean, I knew the Autobots were over saturated with bleedings sparks, but I'd've figured that the brass would have a LITTLE more sense than that!"

A slight scrapping sound caught his attention, and the Decepticon – Phase Out – looked back to see the red and white mech struggling to move, trying to grab the pistol he had dropped. With a snort, Phase Out covered the distance in three steps and picked up the gun himself, plucking it away from the tips of Red Alerts trembling digits.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" Phase Out said, kneeling down next to the barely conscious mech. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to the little ones. I don't get my jollies from killing helpless younglings, I'll have you know. Security Directors, on the other servo…"

Phase Out pressed the barrel of the pistol to Red Alerts helm a his casual, almost friendly tone took on a decidedly harder, more dangerous edge.

"…are fair game."

BANG!

Phase Out's head snapped up. No, the red and yellow bite sized body guards were still down. Was someone else here? He looked around, behind him, and shuttered his optics in blank disbelief.

It was yet _another_ youngling, smaller than the first two, standing unsteadily with wide optics and his little fist still up against the metal wall behind him where he had hit it, making that loud banging sound that had distracted Phase Out before. The grey and red youngling stared back at Phase Out, looking almost as surprised by his own actions as the mech did.

"Another one?!" Phase Out said incredulously. "Is this the Autobot headquarters or did I infiltrate an Iacon orphanage by mistake??"

Bluestreak, blankly frozen, had no response to this.

Phase Out frowned and narrowed his optics as he got a good look at the little one. In particular, the door wings and tell tale frame design. "What a klick…you're from Praxus, aren't you? Did the Autobots find you in what was left of it?"

Bluestreak pressed himself against the wall.

Phase Out stood to his feet, not taking his optics off the child. "Megatron ordered Praxus to be razed to the ground to showcase the Decepticons power and reach and all that ra ra rah. That kind of thing makes most bots think veeeery carefully when picking sides. Now kid, if you did manage to survive all that, I'll give you props for it. But having any survivors kind of undercuts the message we were trying to go for."

Bluestreak shook, beyond scared and confused because he didn't (want to) understand what the Decepticon was saying.

Phase Out casually raised his borrowed pistol and aimed it dead center at Bluestreaks head.

"Nothing personal kid, I'm just anticipating Megatrons orders here."

Bluestreak felt his frightened stupor snap.

He darted away just as Phase Out's gun went off, the plasma blast burning a bright orange and white spot on the wall right behind where Bluestreak had been standing just a klick before.

Phase Out growled angrily as he subspaced the weapon. He couldn't risk trying to shoot a moving target while he was inside the sensitive Security Hub – he could damage something important before he had a chance to complete his mission, and while decimating the Hub would be a heavy blow, his pride as an operative demand he accomplish his original objective.

Phase Out tried to circle around and lunge in front of the kid, but Bluestreak would spin, dodge, twist out of the way just a wires breadth away from his reaching servos. Every time Phase Out came close to grab him, the youngling would always duck away at the last klick even when his back was turned and couldn't see what Phase Out was doing. His evasions were far too timely and far too frequently for it to be pure coincidence.

'_Stupid motion sensitive wing panels,'_ he thought irritably.

Bluestreak turned too sharply, overcompensated to avoid falling, and his pede nearly slipped out from under him in the mad scramble.

Phase Out lunged as his servos shot out to grab Bluestreak in that klick long window where his quarry could not escape.

Something caught his ankle and _held_.

With almost comical surprise Phase Out's lunge was halted mid motion, leaving him to crash down flat on his face. He didn't get to see Bluestreak literally dive under the console, so when he pushed himself back up the little Praxian was already gone.

"What the Pit??" Phase Out exclaimed. He lifted himself to his knees and twisted around to see what had tripped him up so ingloriously.

It was that Primus-slagged Security Director, stretched out on the floor and barely clinging to consciousness even as he was slowly bleeding out all over the floor. His servo was holding fast to Phase Outs ankle with determined but quickly fading strength. He had used up the last of his reserves in the desperate bid to save the child, and he was going to pay for it dearly.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Phase Out snarled, kicking the red servo away. "I've had enough of you."

The annoyed Decepticon unspaced his pistol and aimed it at the top of Red Alerts head just an arm's length away.

Bluestreak crawled as far back as he could, then followed along the wall as fast but as quietly as his panicked self could manage. There had to be someplace he could go, someplace he could hide, he could hear Phase Outs voice even if he wasn't in a state to comprehend the words, he was going to come for him, he wasn't safe here, there just HAD to be a way out, because he couldn't be trapped here-!

There! The grid over the ventilation shaft! The shaft was tiny, far too small for any full sized mech and all but the most streamlined minicons to fit through…but perhaps just big enough for one desperate youngling. Bluestreak threaded his fingers into the grill and tugged once, twice, but to his horror it wasn't coming off.

A boom exploded and reverberated against the walls.

Bluestreak froze, bombs and jet engines and screams echoing from the darkest corners of his minds.

Strength enhanced by renewed fear and desperation, Bluestreak gave a final mighty tugged and popped the grid right off the shaft entrance, said grid flying from his unprepared digits and landing with a clattering sound against the floor.

Phase Out head snapped around.

Bluestreak tucked his wings as far down and in as they could go and laid himself down as flat as his body frame would allow to crawl and to wiggle his way into the open ventilation shaft. It was too small, his body was too angular and his wings still stuck out too much in the sides for him to fit. It was almost literally like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

Bluestreak crawled in anyway.

He pushed with his pedes against the floor and used the traction to _force_ his body to fit. He could feel his chassis and shoulders being scrapped, the paint and uppermost levels of his dermal platings being literally scratched off. He could feel the acute, intense pain as sensitive wing hinges strained and cracked as they were forced to bend far more than they were ever meant to. But Bluestreak kept pushing and wiggling himself further in because this was his only chance to survive, escape, get help for Red Alert and Sideswipe and Sunstrea-

Something grabbed his exposed ankle.

Bluestreak gasped and clawed at the shaft walls frantically for a grip, but the walls were smooth and seamless and offered him nothing and the grip was as strong as a vice. In one smooth tug that literally had parts of Bluestreaks body sparking from the metal on metal friction he was forcefully removed from his tiny false sanctuary.

"Nice try kid, but you're just making this harder on yourself."

Phase Out held Bluestreak down with one knee on the middle of his back. Not that he needed to try hard; Bluestreak had transformed into a violently trembling but otherwise frozen pile of living metal.

"No one's going to save you this time," Phase Out told him calmly. "Just shut off your optics for five klicks. When you open them again, you'll be in the Matrix with the rest of your friends and family instead of this dark nasty military base. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

No! No no no no! Bluestreak didn't want to go! He didn't want to die! He had to see Prowl again, he had to talk to him again, he had to tell him he was sorry, he couldn't go away before then! Phase Out said he wouldn't, but Prowl just had to come, he just…please, please, he just had to, please, don't leave him alone again….

"_I don't know why you don't trust Ratchet, but at least trust me."_

("Good mechling. Be nice and quiet and this'll be much easier on us both. It's not so bad, is it?")

Prowl always came for him. When he knew Bluestreak was in trouble or was afraid he was, he always came for him, like with the Doctor, like when he wandered off to the wash racks. This was the undeniable truth.

"_If any Decepticon tries to attack, I'll be right here to protect you…Now go into recharge. I'll watch over you until you do."_

(Shifting positions to lean closer to his head for the quick, merciful, killing blow.)

"H…help."

"_I promise little one, whatever happens, I won't let anything bad happen to you."_

(The click of a gun being cocked.)

"Help."

"_I'm here Bitty Bot, it's going to be okay, I'm here to protect you."_

("Hm? Did you say something?")

"**HELP**! Help! Help me Prowl, help me, help me HELP ME!"

_RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!_

Phase Outs body arched up and went into a violent spasm, his agonized scream drowned out in a gurgle as fluids filled his insides. He fell forward, just barely catching himself before he collapsed totally on his near victim. Bluestreak shivered as he feel the hot and cold liquids of fresh energon and chilled coolant as it bled from Phase Outs mouth and dripped dripped dripped liberally on his back.

A white servo gripped Phase Outs shoulder and pulled him away, throwing him off and sending him rolling across the floor. The Decepticon gurgled out a pained scream as his melted, pot marked back slammed against the wall before he finally passed out from the pain.

Prowl stood there, stance wide, optics blazing near white, wings held high and stiff in a way that enhanced his size and presence so he seemed to almost fill the room

_It was a Praxian mech, colored deep purple and silver, legs apart and fists at his side in a strong, intimidating pose_

every line of his body language speaking of merciless intent and a powerful, unstoppable force.

_every line of his body language and facial features told of a harsh personality and a powerful presence._

What made it most frightening was that it was not a put on consciously meant for intimidation; it came naturally to him, as a side that he had rarely shown anyone though it was no less real than the rest of him. Not even hesitating, Prowl turned his rifle around to Phase Outs head for the killing blow.

"Prowl!"

He stopped.

It was like a spell had been broken. He shuttered his optics, like someone coming out of a daze, before saying in a loud, clear voice "Threat neutralized. Mech down, twins unknown status."

Suddenly the room seemed flooded with medics squeezing in the narrow entry way Prowl had created from his most potent acid pellets. Ratchet went straight to Red Alert, his pedes splashing in the wide puddle surrounding him, while Patch tended to the prone Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and Socket fell to Phase Out side, working on him as quickly as if he were an Autobot. Prowl narrowed his optics, but a live prisoner was far more useful than a dead one. As for Bluestreak…

Prowl turned back to the youngling.

Bluestreak has sat back on his haunches, still leaning forward with one servo on the floor supporting him. The paint on his chassis, shoulders, and the edges of his door wings had been scrapped almost clean from his rough removal from the shaft, bearing a multitude of scratches. His wings were being held at unnatural, uneven angles, and one shoulder was bleeding from the torn hinge. But Bluestreak seemed heedless of his own injuries; he was just sitting there, watching Prowl, with an expression of what could only be described as trepidation.

Prowl subspaced his rifle and went over.

Automatically, Bluestreak sat back and raised his arms up.

Automatically, Prowl opened his arms to gather him up.

He couldn't tell what was shaking more, Bluestreaks form or Prowl arms. Maybe both.

"Patch, take the twins out of here and get ready for emergency patient transport – we're getting Red Alert out of here."

"What's happening to him? Is he going to be okay? Is he??"

At Ratchets crisp order and Sideswipes almost yell, Prowl straightened still carrying Bluestreak, one arm under the knees and the other across his back, mindful of the doorwings. The medics were going to need their space, and even Prowl knew that it would be better for everyone if Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't stick around. He turned in time to catch Patch almost shoving the red and yellow pair out the melted entry way, trying to be gentle but knowing he didn't have the luxury of time for coddling. They weren't exactly making it easy for him.

Prowl came to the medic just as he finally forced the pair out. "I'll watch out for them at least for ht orn," he said. "They and Bluestreak are friends, it'll help for them to be together after what happened."

"Ah, good idea," Patch said hurridly, already transforming into a modified flatbed truck, which would more or less act as a living gurney to transport Red Alert, since he…

Prowl angled his body so that his wings would block any possible way for Bluestreak to see the Directors condition. Ratchet was the best, but a direct shot to the head was…messy. On the slim chance he even survived, there was no telling what permanent damage had been inflicted, from loss of motor skills, slurred speech, or spending the rest of his existence with the mental capabilities of a drone.

He tightened his grip on Bluestreak.

The resident hackers finally managed to override Red Alerts own firewalls and opened the Hub doors, thankfully allowing a safer removal of the injured. When Prowl stepped out, it was to find Optimus Prime kneeling down in front of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, speaking in a low voice with a large servo on each of their shoulders, Ironhide standing off to the side. Sideswipe looked about ready to cry, and Sunstreaker looked like he was trying to cover up his fear with anger, but at least they had managed to calm down slightly. Prowl watched his leader speak to the distressed younglings for a couple of klicks before he realized he was staring, and promptly averted his optics to try and give them a bit of privacy until the Prime was done.

It was only after Optimus stood again, still keeping a servo on their shoulders, that Prowl made a slight sound to gain his attention.

"I believe it would be best if I watched over the twins for the time being," Prowl said. Optimus nodded.

"Very well. How is Bluestreak?"

"The physical injuries are minor. Wheeljack can see to them."

They both knew that wasn't what Optimus was talking about, but the Prime had the tact not to inquire further at this point.

The named youngling wiggled a little and Prowl obligingly put him down. As soon as his pedes touched the floor Bluestreak almost ran over, spread his arms wide and grabbed his friends in the biggest hug he could manage. They were both surprised, but Sideswipe returned the hug with gusto, half swallowing the smaller youngling. After a klick or two of futile resistance, even Sunstreaker hugged back, a bit more tightly than he probably realized.

Prowl gave them a few klicks to comfort and reassure each other, before he approached and laid a gentle hand on Sideswipes head.

"Come. We should get out of the way. Ratchet will keep me updated on Red Alerts condition. As soon as I know anything, you will too."

"Is he going to be okay?" a small voice asked.

It wasn't Sideswipe. It wasn't Sunstreaker.

Optimus and Ironhide whipped their heads around in shock, and even the twins seemed taken aback. Prowl, however, usured the younglings away even as he answered quietly.

"We'll see."


	8. Aftermath

Ch. 8 – Aftermath

Wheeljack was waiting for Prowl and the younglings in his lab, with a space clear for repairs and optics full of concern. Since the twins were mostly undamaged, apart from a residual buzzing in their audios from the stunner, Prowl had them move off to the side where they could be out of the way. Sideswipe plopped to the floor, back against the wall, and just let his head fall to his knees, closing himself up in a shell. Sunstreaker, on the other hand, was pacing in a tight circle like an angry, aggressive animal ready to attack. Rather than stopping to analyze the behaviors and what it might mean for their current mental states, as he might have done in other circumstances, Prowl guided Bluestreak to the waiting Wheeljack.

"Alright Prowl, just set him down here on the bench," the engineer instructed. "…Thanks. 'Kay Blue, I'm just going to take a look at these hinges of yours and we'll get you fixed right up….alright, this is going to sound like a stupid question, but how are you doing?"

Bluestreak didn't respond. He didn't even look at the engineer. He just kept staring blankly into space, optics dull, holding onto Prowls hand in a loose grip and leaning into his Caretaker.

"He stopped responding to stimuli a short while ago," Prowl explained. "He has probably gone into shock now that the immediate danger is over."

"Shoulda figured that'd've happened," Wheeljack muttered as he worked. "Primus. He's been doing so well, and now THIS happens."

Wheeljack looked up from Bluestreaks back to meet Prowls optics. "Don't worry Prowl; soon as they're done patching up that 'Con enough so he doesn't deactivate on us, I'm going to take a look at whatever upgrade he's got that's letting him walk through our walls. Soon as I reverse engineer that, I can design a shielding or disruptor or something to counter it. This WON'T happen again."

"I trust your skills to do so, Wheeljack, but one Decepticon is not the issue," Prowl answered. "The base is not impervious, and even if we adjust our defenses in response to this intrusion, they will find a way in again sooner or later. Even if we fortify our defenses, that won't change the fact that the main Autobot base will always be the ultimate target."

"So what are you suggesting then?"

"After this, no one can deny that it's too dangerous for Bluestreak, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to stay here much longer. However we do it, we need to send them away as soon as possible

"**NO!"**

Wheeljack dropped his pliers and scuttled back a step in pure shock. Even Prowl started slightly at the unexpectedly loud interruption.

Said interruption had come out of his stupor at some point in the conversation, and was now looking up at him with an expression mixed with hurt and spark-filled desperation.

"Please, don't send me away!" Bluestreak pleaded. "I'm sorry I was bad in the medbay, I'm sorry I yelled at you, I'm sorry I threw my datapad at you, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I'll be good from now on, I promise. I won't bug you, I won't ask for anything, I'll do anything you say, just please, please don't send me away!"

Bluestreak gripped Prowls hand with both of his and pulled his legs up onto the table so that he was literally begging on his knees.

When Prowl didn't answer, Bluestreak let him forehead fall to Prowls arm. The tactician could feel the slight buzz in the contact from the youngling's tremors.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Bluestreak kept saying in an almost whisper, again and again like a mantra.

Wheeljack stood where he was, literally stunned speechless. If he hadn't been wearing his blast mask, his jaw would have been hanging to the floor. Prowl was in a similar state, staring down at the child in mute surprise with absolutely no idea how to respond to this sudden torrential emotional onslaught. Bluestreak didn't raise his head, and his apologies had died down to a sniffling.

"Say something stupid!"

Both adults turned their heads to Sunstreaker, standing there a little ways away, shoulders up and hands bunched in a defiant pose, focused totally on Prowl and looking sincerely ready for a fight if the Praxian said the wrong word.

"…Well?!" Sunstreaker demanded.

Prowl turned his attention back to Bluestreak.

"If you're afraid of going outside, you don't have to be. We'll find someplace safe for you to go, Bluestreak, and we'll protect you until you get there," he promised. "You don't need to be afraid anymore."

Bluestreak stopped talking.

In that instant, Prowl _knew_ he had said the absolutely wrong thing. But he had no idea what was wrong about it.

Knock knock knock on the door frame.

"Excuse me."

Lockout was standing in the open door way. Prowl stiffened in the officers presence, an automatic reaction of his that came just shy of standing at attention.

"I apologize for interrupting," Lockout said, coming a few steps into the room. "But I was passing by, and I decided to see if I could steal Prowl away for a short while. We're going to need someone familiar with the security systems to make sure Phase Out didn't sabotage or plant anything while he was running around the base, and for obvious reasons getting it done sooner would be better than later."

"I understand," Prowl said. He looked back down at the youngling still attached to his arm with a death grip.

"I'm sorry Bluestreak, we will have to continue this another time," Prowl said, easing his arm out of the younglings grip. Bluestreak let his hands fall and instead used his arms to hold himself, his wings dropping and not raising his head, looking so…small. Small, and sad.

Prowl hesitated. He almost wanted to tell Lockout he couldn't leave just yet, not until he resolved this…he couldn't even classify what was happening. But his sense of duty wouldn't let him stay, and he reasoned that by the time he got back hopefully he would know what it was that Bluestreak needed to hear from him, other than false promises Prowl refused to give him. Decision made and plan in hand, Prowl nodded once to Wheeljack (who looked like he wanted to say something but bit his glossa instead) before leaving.

"Coward!"

Wheeljack grabbed Sunstreaker and held him back from running after Prowl, but the 12 vorn fought in the grip and looked fully ready and able to literally attack Prowl in righteous anger.

"Don't you dare run away you two-bit turbo rat coward!" Sunstreaker yelled after him. "You're the fragging adult here! You don't get to run away just because you don't wanna do something! Don't you dare leave before Bluestreak says you can!"

What? Prowl wasn't running away, he had a job he needed to do, how could Sunstreaker accuse him of running away?

And why couldn't those words make it past the blockage that created that choking sensation, curling up and dying before they could be voiced? Why couldn't he say the words produced by his logic computer to defend his actions against this _child_?

Prowl was saved from answering from the most unlikely source.

"That's enough!" Lockout barked sharply.

The sharp order was enough distraction for Lockout to place himself directly in front of the gold mechling.

"You're disruptive behavior isn't helping anyone, least of all Bluestreak." The 2iC told him frankly. "You're just making this unnecessarily hard for him."

Sunstreaker ceased his struggles, but Wheeljack wasn't letting go yet and the youngling was glowering up at Lockout.

"I know you're trying to help Bluestreak right now, but this isn't the way to do it," Lockout went on, a little more gently but still firm, like steel wrapped in velvet. "I need Prowl to keep doing his job so he can keep everyone safe. While he's doing that, I need you do to do your job to help Sideswipe and Bluestreak and make sure they're alright."

Sunstreaker's expression hadn't softened, but now he was more cautiously curious at what Lockout was going on about. Wheeljack deemed him calm enough to risk letting go of his shoulders.

"Right now, you're the one I'm depending on," Lockout went on seriously. "Sideswipe is still shell shocked, and Bluestreak is on the verge of an emotional breakdown. They're going to look to you to be strong, to make them feel safe. You need to be the big brother to them both now. If you can't do that, then you're no help to anyone. Do you understand?"

Sunstreaker straightened slightly, subtly but definitely going from ready-to-fight to ready-to-serve.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker said.

He quickly scowled and added, "But Prowl isn't off the hook either. He'd better come back with something better than a stupid brush off he just tried on Bluestreak just now."

Lockout nodded with a slight smile of approval. "I'll make sure he gets back, Sunstreaker."

Prowl watched the officer handle the angry youngling with lips slightly parted in the closest he'd ever come to slack jawed disbelief. Even Wheeljack's optics were far wider than they strictly should have been able to go. Both of them were quietly wondering when and how they'd be able to ask how Lockout learned to handle angry younglings so deftly.

Lockout stepped away and led Prowl out into the hall, letting the door slide shut behind them.

"So, mind telling me what Sunstreaker meant by 'brush off', Prowl?" Lockout asked with a sidelong look. Prowl frowned and shook his head.

"I'm not certain how he got that impression," he answered honestly. "I was only trying to reassure Bluestreak that we would be sending him someplace safe in the light of recent events. It's the only logical course of action at this point, and I can only assume the reason Sunstreaker took offense was because he lacks the experience to see the logic of it."

"Hm," Lockout answered neutrally. "Not that it really matters; the younglings aren't going anywhere."

Prowl grabbed Lockouts shoulder. It wasn't enough to prompt the busy mechs to stop, but it did grab his attention enough to give it all the black and white mech.

"You can't possibly be serious!" Prowl exclaimed. "When Bluestreak first came, you were the most vehement about him being anywhere else but here. He was allowed to remain because the base was considered safe, if not perfectly ideal. Not that we have proof that even our defenses won't be enough, the only logical course of action would be to move Bluestreak and the others to a location that won't be targeted by Megatron. What made you change your mind?"

"I haven't changed my mind at all," Lockout said sharply. "I simply haven't forgotten the facts. Prowl, you've been staring at the maps and movement charts for deca-orns now, what can you tell me about the Decepticons current movements?"

Prowl, ever the professional, gave a rapid fire answer without even missing a beat over the seeming random and drastic change in direction. "Currently all Decepticon army movements can be best described as erratic but fluid; the battle lines are changing almost literally by the joor. That's partly what's keeping the Contingent pinned down for so long, since they can't be sure where Shockwave's forces are going to be and for how long. So far, I haven't been able to deduce the exact purpose behind the rapid movement, if there is any beyond simply keeping our own forces unbalanced. It's also the reason why Sidestep had to take the Special ops to extract one of our teams who found themselves trapped in hostile territory simply because they stayed still for too long."

A dangerous mission Prowl had helped plan, and the reason Jazz had to leave the base so quickly after his brief meeting with Lockout.

"You wanted to know why we can't send the younglings away?" Lockout went on with a hard look. "That's your answer right there; even if we were desperate enough to move them to just dump them in any neutral city we can find and hope for the best – and even _I'm_ not _that_ desperate yet – we have no way of getting them there safely. We can't predict the Decepticons movements with enough accuracy to plan a travel route that won't take them dangerously close to hostile territory. Whatever window of opportunity we had before, it's long gone now."

"In other words, the dangers of trying to transport them now outweigh the dangers of keeping there here." Prowl summed up. "In that case, I would like to be there for the Decepticons interrogation – he could provide information on these movements. How soon will it be until he's ready for questioning?"

"There isn't going to be an interrogation," Lockout said flatly. "Phase Out's dead."

Prowl almost skipped a step in his stride.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Phase Out's wounds were severe, and on the scene Ratchet had to choose between him and Red Alert," Lockout explained. "Socket couldn't keep him on line on his own; Phase Out was dead almost before they even got him to the med bay."

The Decepticons twitching, flailing body as his back melted under the half dozen acid pellets flashed through Prowls mind. His battle computer had targeted just one or two target points needed to stop him, but for the first time in as long as he could remember Prowl had ignored the data in favor of something more…brutal. Even then he hadn't been _purposely_ aiming for vital areas for an instant kill…not consciously, exactly.

Was it because he had enough sense left to remember a live prisoner was worth more than a deactivated one? Or was it because he viciously hadn't wanted Phase Out to die so quickly, because he didn't deserve it? Had Prowl allowed his emotions, his fury, to taint his judgment and cost them a long-term asset for the sake of immediate visceral satisfaction?

The realization of the extent of his loss of control overwhelmed Prowl with a sickening feeling.

"Then all I can do is apologize for my actions, Lockout," Prowl said. "I used excessive force and cost us a potentially valuable source of tactical information."

Prowl had taken another three steps before it dawned on him that Lockout had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Prowl asked.

"Don't say that."

The SiC had spoken so quietly, yet so firmly, that the words resembled the first tremors that preceded a catastrophe.

Prowl turned all the way around to face the other mech. What was Lockout saying? That Phase Outs death wasn't his fault? That was illogical to say, and didn't match with Lockouts nonverbal cues. He needed clarification.

"What do you mean?" Prowl asked.

Lockout raised his head up, and Prowl actually took a half step back when he saw the bright, pale, _burning_ optics. Lockout…he wasn't just upset. He was almost trembling in absolute _fury_.

"Don't you EVER say that!" Lockout snarled. Quick as lighting Lockout closed the distance and grabbed Prowl by the collar strut and pulled the startled tactician in up close and personal until their olfactory sensors were mere inches apart.

"I don't give a fiery frag about prisoners and hostages," Lockout growled low and dangerous. "Phase Out was going to kill Bluestreak because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two other younglings might still lose the only family they have left because of him. What you did, you did it to save their lives. So don't you DARE apologize for it!"

Lockout roughly pushed Prowl away from him, as if disgusted by his presence.

"I have work to do, and so do you," Lockout said in clear dismissal.

That was when Prowl realized that they had ended up in front of the Security Hub without his realizing it. Lockout brushed past him roughly and continued down the hall, his stride fast and harsh. So stunned was Prowl by what had just happened, it took an extra klick or two for him to respond properly.

"Lockout!"

The mech in questioned stopped, but didn't bother turning around.

"I was apologizing because I could have stopped Phase Out without necessarily killing him," Prowl told Lockout back. "I only regret my loss of control, of letting pure emotion guide my actions. I regret that, and that alone, because my rash actions could have also gotten Bluestreak hurt."

A crouching, trembling, crying, terrified Bluestreak floated up in his mind.

"But," Prowl went one more lowly, almost to himself, "while I regret the act of killing him, I cannot regret that he died."

Lockout paused for a moment longer before continuing on, not even sparing Prowl a backwards glance.

Not knowing what else to do, Prowl entered the code and let himself into the Security Hub – the sooner he checked the cameras for everything Phase Out did and could have possibly done, the better.

He also had a lot of thinking to do in the mean time.

oOoOoOo

Up until now, Sideswipe has sincerely believed that the orn his Creators died would be the absolute worst thing he could ever experience.

Less than a joor ago he was proven wrong.

Horribly, horribly wrong.

Vorns later, Sideswipe would honestly say that he couldn't remember much of anything that happened between leaving the Security Hub where Re- leaving the Hub, and getting to Wheeljacks lab. The next clear thing he remembered was sitting against the wall, between a work bench and a storage bin while the grownups talked about stuff from so far away their voices sounded distant and fuzzy to his own audios, never mind they were all in the same room. Even Sunstreakers voice, angry and harsh, seemed dim and fuzzy. It felt like he was living in thick, heavy oil and that his audio's had malfunctioned into static. He heard voices, but everything sounded far away, muffled, indistinct.

Except for the noises coming from inside his own head.

Phase Out had tossed him on his back, so the paralyzed Sideswipe could only look up at the ceiling. He couldn't see anything, but he could still hear everything. Primus help him, he heard everything, and it still wouldn't stop ringing in his audios. The screaming, Phase Out was still mocking, the running, hunting him down, before the gun went off as loud as a cannon and Red Alert…Red Alert…

Sideswipes vision blurred, and he buried his face in his knees and covered his head with his arms. But no matter how tightly he held, the noises didn't go away. If anything, they got even louder. Sideswipe tried off-lining his optics and squeezing the filters as tightly shut as they could go, but that only summoned up the last thing he saw of his older brother, half standing before he was blasted backwards out of the chair with a bright line and the smell of burning wires and spilt energon from the ragged hole in his chest.

The mechling found a way to curl up into an even tighter ball. But he couldn't close up enough to keep the painful memories out.

His Creators were dead, he and his brother almost died, Red Alert might still die…Sideswipe felt like he was standing on brittle rust bridge that was crumbling to pieces over the giant canyon.

"Um, Sideswipe?"

At his name, the red youngling raised his head.

Bluestreak was standing in front of him, wings twitching occasionally, holding his hands over his chest, looking down and to the side, and overall looking like a frightened turbo-mouse.

"Can I, um, can I…sit with you…please?" he asked, so quietly Sideswipe almost couldn't hear him.

Sideswipe stared at him.

The screaming for help…that had been Bluestreak. It was the first time anyone had heard the little survivor say anything. Phase Out had been hunting him, was going to kill him…because…

(Bluestreak shuffled back and forth on his pedes as his wings twitched faster.)

…Sideswipe had no idea why Phase Out thought Bluestreak had to die. He was just little, and he almost died. Sideswipe was looking at him, right here, and right now, but it was sinking in that he came very close to NOT being here…

(Bluestreaks wings lowered and he almost seemed to shrink in on himself, his hands trembling with hurt as he took a step back.)

…and thinking of Bluestreak being not here anymore, made Sideswipe think of how terrified of Sunstreaker he had been at first, only to warm up and treat his admittedly scary brother like a normal person, how he had played with them and made them feel like there were home and safe and that they were going to be okay here. It made him think of his shyness that hid a playful, almost devious side, the innocent face that belied his snarky observations that no one else got to see…

(Bluestreaks optics darted around, looking lost and confused and increasingly anxious, so tense he looked about ready to crack open and fall apart right then and there.)

…and in less than an orn, the thought of him not being here anymore frightened him almost as badly as the thought of losing Sunstreaker.

(Bluestreak took another step away and one servo darted up to snatch a little roll of copper wire from the work bench.)

Sideswipe nearly fell over himself as he lunged forward to grab Bluestreak by the wrist before he could take one step too far. Bluestreak froze, optics wide open like a petro rabbit that caught sight of a turbofox.

"I didn't say no."

It took an extra moment for Bluestreak to understand that he wasn't in trouble. He slowly relaxed, and even smiled a little. Tentatively, he stepped closer again and sat next to the red twin. Sideswipe wrapped an arm around the younger Praxian to pull him close, and Bluestreak in turn curled up and relaxed against him, full of trust in the security Sideswipe provided.

Sunstreaker came over, tired of arguing with Wheeljack ("He doesn't have to talk to you if he doesn't want, so drop it already!") and stood on the other side of Sideswipe, leaning against the wall but as vigilant as a sentinel. They didn't touch, but they didn't need to. Exhausted by the events of the orn, Bluestreak fell into a fitful doze against Sideswipe. Sideswipe held him, supporting him so he didn't fall over.

They were here, alive, right now, but they came so close to not being here. Bluestreak came so very, very close to…to not being here. Sideswipe honestly didn't think he'd be able to handle this again.

'_No. Not again. I won't let this happen EVER again.'_

He would not allow anyone, or anything, to take away someone important to him. He would rather die than go through this again. Whatever it took, he was going to be strong enough to protect Sunstreaker, to watch his back, and between the two of them, they'd be able to protect the little Bluestreak as well, and if…no, WHEN Red Alert got better, they'd protect him too.

Unbeknownst to him, Sunstreaker was watching his brother protectively hold Bluestreak and made the exact same vow.

In the center of the gathered younglings, held tight and protected by the fitfully dozing Bluestreak, was the roll of wire held close to his chest, as protected and hidden as an oyster protects it's pearl.

oOoOoOo

Combing through Teletraans systems took longer than anticipated. Prowls initial technique was to draw out Phase Out complete path using the compiled video's the security cameras took of him, then focusing on any terminals that the Decepticon could have conceivably tampered with along the way. Everything checked out clear – Phase Out had apparently been more interested in simply getting to the Hub than creating wanton chaos along the way – but to be sure Prowl went ahead and remotely checked the rest of the terminals and ran every system check available for planted virus's or recent unauthorized activities. He even checked for _authorized_ activity from officers in the time slot, in case Phase Out had been a smarter hacker than they thought.

Red Alert wouldn't have settled for anything less.

For future reference, Prowl saved all the recordings of Phase Out in a special folder. Part of that meant he had to watch every single one of them, from first to last…and what happened in the Hub before he got there.

That was the only video he couldn't bring himself to finish.

With Phase Out dead, they would probably never find out what his original mission had been. But it would seem that the…distraction caused by the younglings had prevented Phase Out from completing his mission.

Prowl had the irrational but intense thought that he might have preferred Phase Outs success to the trauma Bluestreak had been forced to endure.

That thought was quickly shoved aside before he had a chance to follow it too far. His work in the Hub was done anyway, so he logged out and left, making sure to lock the door as per protocol. So, the good news was that Prowl had finished his assignment to his satisfaction and then some, and was now free to see to Bluestreak himself and allieviate his lingering worries.

The bad news was he still didn't know how to go about doing it.

It didn't help that everyone else already seemed to know exactly what he was supposed to do – or at least recognized everything he was doing wrong so far – and kept getting mad at him for not getting it.

Prowl rubbed his chin as he walked down the halls towards Wheeljack's lab, his pace slowed by his thoughts.

Alright, so Bluestreak wanted to stay here, at the base, even after being targeted, attacked, and nearly killed. Granted, Bluestreak had not been the main target, rather an incidental one that Phase Out figured would buy his bonus points with Megatron, but that hardly mattered. If Bluestreak had been aware enough before to understand Prowl saying the younglings had to be evacuated to a different location, then he would have also been able to comprehend Prowl's explanation about the Autobot Headquarters always being a target, no matter how excellent the defenses were, and it would be attacked again.

Following on that, if you knew you were in a dangerous area, but were given the option to move to a safer area, the only logical course of action was to make that move as soon as you could. True, circumstances have trapped the younglings here for the time being as Lockout said, but Bluestreak didn't know that yet.

Then again, what with most if not all of Bluestreaks memories from before the fall of Praxus having been suppressed, the inside of the base was literally all he knew. The last memories he had of the outside world was the cities remains, wandering around completely alone for orns before he was found.

A flash of memory from when Prowl first found him, and how he had cautiously checked the skies before he ventured out of his little shelter.

Prowl couldn't say he blamed Bluestreak for not ever wanting to go back to that. Breach or not, the base remained the only safe haven he could remember. No wonder he was so scared to leave.

That reminded Prowl of how Bluestreak had apologized so desperately and promised to be good from now on, just before Lockout had pulled him away. Perhaps he thought he was being sent away as a punishment for his behavior that morning.

(Huh. It already felt like such a long time ago, but Prowl made a mental note to speak to...someone…about that wildly uncharacteristic behavior)

Mental notes aside, it didn't explain why Bluestreak would make such a leap of logic and completely skip over Phase Out as part of the equation. Perhaps what Prowl needed to do was explain to Bluestreak tactfully but frankly how his behavior had nothing to do with his earlier proposal to send him and the twins away, but entirely to do with protecting him. Bluestreak was a smart mechling; he would be able to understand the logic of it once he had time to think about it.

'_And you gotta understand, Prowl, not everyone speaks logic as fluent as you do,'_

Prowl slowed slightly as the memory bubbled up.

That's right. That had been one of Jazz's first bits of advice. Perhaps he should wait a little bit then, after Bluestreak had calmed down and wasn't so emotional. It would be easier for him to listen to the facts as Prowl presents them

'_Maybe you're only tryin' t' state the facts like ya usually do, but to Bluestreak, it's gonna sound like you don't want him around, maybe that you resent having t' take care of him.'_

Prowl stopped dead in his tracks.

'_Trust me, Prowl; for a youngling, knowing you're unwanted is the single worst feeling in the world.'_

Feeling that you're unwanted…believing you must be unwanted…

"Does Bluestreak…really believe that?" Prowl asked aloud in growing horror.

He felt like he had just been kicked by a combiner straight through a wall.

Primus, how could he have been so STUPID? Bluestreak hadn't been begging Prowl not to make him leave the base, he had been pleading with Prowl to not reject him. The gross oversight and what his blasé response might have been like for him to hear…it hit Prowl with such a powerful wave he honestly started to feel slightly nauseous for it.

No wonder Sunstreaker and Lockout had gotten so mad at him. Prowl was a little surprised that Lockout hadn't simply punched him. He certainly deserved it.

"Hey kid, wake up, you're blocking the hall."

Prowl snapped back to the present, and to the grizzled green and white face looking straight into his optics with a mix of mild annoyance and faint concern.

"You were just standing there all zoned out like a drone without the programming," Kup told him frankly. "You want me to get Ratchet to check if any of your wires been knocked loose?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I'm fine Kup, thank you for your concern. If you'll please excuse me."

Prowl separated himself from the older mech and continued down the hall at a noticeably faster pace. But he halted at an intersection, and considered for a split moment before he turned down the other hall. He needed to make a brief detour first.

oOoOoOo

_He was hiding in a small dark place because something terrible and scary was out there looking for him, coming closer and closer while it hunted. He couldn't see or hear anything, but he knew the scary thing, the monster, was coming for him, so he had to stay small and quiet and hope it would pass him by. _

_He wasn't hiding alone; someone was in the small dark place with him, holding him close in a warm embrace and making whispered promises of safety and protection that he believed with his entire spark. The monster was still coming, but it wouldn't find him here because the arms would hide him and chase away all the bad things._

_Except they didn't._

_The monster came and ripped him from the arms even as he screamed and the arms tried to hold on and pull him back, only to slip away into the darkness._

_He was thrown up high and had just enough time to see the monsters flashing yellow visor before it swallowed him up whole._

Bluestreak flinched awake with a gasp.

"Hey, you alright?"

Bluestreak craned his neck to look up at a concerned Sideswipe. Somehow, he had twisted around so that he had turned inward and was practically sleeping in Sideswipes lap. Just beyond his head Bluestreak could see Sunstreaker standing behind him, leaning against the wall and making a poor attempt of looking entirely disinterested.

Bluestreak nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly. His fuel pump was still thundering in his chassis and his tanks felt twisted and weak, but he was well used to waking up from nightmares.

Well, almost used to it.

"…hasn't said a word to me at all. Sunstreaker won't let me anywhere near him anyway."

Bluestreak swiveled his head around and twisted his upper body around to see what was happening behind him.

Prowl was back, and he was quietly speaking to Wheeljack.

Bluestreak lowered his hand holding the wire roll and hid it behind his thigh.

"What do you mean?" Prowl asked.

"You know the sparkling story about the Emirates femmling who guarded by the Canyon Beast?"

Prowl silently waited for him to continue.

"It's kind of like that, except with a mechling instead."

Sideswipe chuckled, which made Bluestreak smile even if he didn't understand what was so funny. The noise was enough to get Prowls attention, and he looked over their way.

Bluestreaks smile evaporated.

Prowl turned and approached the gathered younglings, and Bluestreak just about swallowed his glossa. He flipped back around and hid his face against Sideswipes chassis. A part of him frantically believed that if he closed his optics and audio's and didn't acknowledge Prowl when he said 'You can't stay, you're leaving now,' then it couldn't happen and it would never be real.

Step, step, step, and he stopped right behind him. Bluestreak could practically feel him standing there. He curled up a little more in a protective shell as he heard the movement of Prowl lowering into a kneeling position; a feeble defense for what he knew what was coming.

"I have something for you Bluestreak."

Okay, that wasn't it.

Bluestreak tried to resist, he really did (it just had to be a trick because this wasn't going according to the script), but his will power could only put up a feeble fight against the innate youngling curiosity. He lifted his head and looked back at Prowl. At least he tried to, but something appeared first in the corner of his vision that was grey and limp and welcomingly familiar.

"I thought you would like to have Silverstreak back," Prowl explained.

Bluestreak sat up and held his arms out to accept the knot doll. Prowl released her to and Blue pulled her in for a tight embrace as if he hadn't seen his beloved toy in vorns.

Still kneeling, Prowl looked up at Sunstreaker. The youngling had been watching him closely, even suspiciously. Rather than taking offense, Prowl spoke to him as if nothing was amiss.

"Sunstreaker, I've been thinking about what you told me before I left. I would now like to speak to Bluestreak in private."

Bluestreaks head snapped back up.

Sunstreaker watched Prowl for a few klicks, before looking away and shrugging one shoulder.

"Whatever."

Prowl stood up and held a hand out for Bluestreak.

The youngling stared at it like it had snarling gnashing razor sharp jaws. It took a not so subtle nudge to the back from Sideswipe before he took it. Had he been physically capable of gulping, he would have done so.

Prowl led him to another part of the room for a bit of privacy. The mech indicated for Bluestreak to sit down in a chair against the wall, which he did so slowly. Bluestreak held the doll in front of him with both arms like a shield, terrified of what was coming next. Anxiety partly turned to shock when Prowl kneeled down in front of him, putting them optic to optic.

"Tell me Bluestreak, why do you think I said that you, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker needed to leave?"

Bluestreak kept his optics averted and held the lumpy doll a little tighter. Prowl lowered his head and leaned to the side to match him.

"Bluestreak, look at me. Why do you think I said that?"

The small Praxian didn't respond, but Prowl was patient and did not push him. The mechling opened his mouth and stopped twice before he had the nerve and composure to answer.

"…Because I…in the med bay…and, um…I…yelled at you…and…I threw my datapad at you?"

Prowl kept waiting.

"And now you, um, you don't…want…me…anymore?"

Just saying it out loud was almost enough to send Bluestreak over the edge – and he was dangling by his fingers as it was. His optics welled up and threatened to overflow, and it was getting harder to talk at all. He still couldn't bring himself to look at Prowl, or he'd lose it completely.

"Don't you think Phase Out had anything to do with it?" Prowl asked.

Bluestreak slowly shrugged, avoiding having to answer.

"Don't you think it's possible that I only want you to be safe?" Prowl pressed gently.

"You can protect me," Bluestreak said quietly.

"I want to protect you, Bluestreak. That's why I suggested sending you away."

The youngling minutely turned his head to look up at Prowl without having to face him full on, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

"But…if we're far away from each other, how are you supposed to protect me?" he asked.

"I'm not the only in the world who can take care of you. I'm not even the best mech for the job, if truth be told. I only wanted for you to go to a place where the Decepticons wouldn't be able to find you. A proper safe house, if you will."

"It wouldn't work," Bluestreak said firmly. His optics narrowed in a dark expression. "No matter where you try to hide me, the Decepticons would find me anyway. They're like monsters; no matter where I go they'll _always_ find me."

Prowl's head reared back slightly in shock. Bluestreaks assertion bore a disturbing resemblance to the voice of experience. Was he referring to his interpretation of what happened at Praxus…

…or was he remembering more than he had been letting on?

"What makes you so sure of that?" Prowl asked carefully.

Bluestreak turned his head away again.

"I just know. I just…back in the Hub, I was really scared, but before that, I felt…safe. I wasn't scared anymore, but I used to be scared all the time. I don't want to be scared any more. That's why I like being with you; you're not scared of anything."

Prowl hesitated. There were several different directions he could take this conversation – he could press it to learn what Bluestreak was recalling, he could plant a seed for him to consider and accept his inevitable departure…

…or he could be honest…

"That's actually not quite true. When I found out that Phase Out was in the Hub, that was the most scared I had been for almost as long as I can remember."

…and bare his spark for the first time in his life to another living being.

Bluestreak whipped his head back around in visible shock.

"You were scared?"

"Yes, very scared," Prowl confirmed with a small nod.

Bluestreak blank CPU was summarily hijacked by the still fresh memory of Prowl in the Hub, throwing Phase Out aside like a limp doll and hefting a smoking rifle with a murderous ferocity Bluestreak never knew he was even _capable_ of.

"You didn't look scared," he pointed out skeptically.

Prowl smiled a little. "That's because, even though I felt scared, I didn't have time to be scared. It's alright to feel fear, but we can't let it control us; otherwise we act hastily, irrationally, or become simply paralyzed. I knew that if I let that happen, if I hesitated for even a klick, then I might not have been able to save you."

Blue smiled a little.

"Well, thank you for coming for me even if you were scared of the Decepticon."

The smile faded when Prowl shook his head.

"You misunderstood me. I wasn't afraid of getting hurt by Phase Out. I was afraid of losing you."

Bluestreak slowly lit up in CPU blowing understanding.

"So…what you said before…" he started tentatively, like a student who wasn't completely sure he had the right answer but was trying anyway. "…you didn't want me gone, exactly. You just…want me…safe?"

Prowl nodded. "That's exactly right. All I want is for you to be safe. You shouldn't have to live in fear."

The mechling lowered his head so his chin rested on top of Silverstreak.

"I think I get it now, but I'd still rather stay with you," he admitted quietly. "When I'm with you, I'm never scared. Even with Decepticons."

Prowl leaned in a little to match Bluestreak.

"Actually, Lockout and I were discussing that very topic after I left. I've been thinking, and we both believe that perhaps evacuating you, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker at this point in time would be premature. We will be taking measures to reinforce our defenses and internal securities, of course, but in the mean time we thought it best for you to continue residing here until the Contingent is able to take you, just as we had decided on when you first arrived."

Bluestreak rose his head up again so they were back to being optic to optic.

"I can stay?"

"Yes."

"With you?"

"Yes."

He didn't know it, but the sheer relief and welling joy that sprung from the entirety of Bluestreaks spark lit up his face with a smile that made his entire being glow with his happiness. That sincere reaction was enough to push Prowl to his next words.

"I also owe you an apology Bluestreak. I never meant to make you believe you were unwanted. I don't want you to ever think that again."

Bluestreak nodded. "I promise."

Prowl smiled at the mechlings earnest words. What he did next would surprise them both.

He reached behind Bluestreaks head, and gently tipped it forward the final few inches to tap against his own in a gentle bump.

"Thank you, Bluestreak."

Blue off-lined his optics and let the shutters fall closed, smiling as he felt a warmth spread throughout his body. A simple head tap from Prowl made him feel as warm an accepted as a dozen hugs from Jazz.

On the other side of the room, Wheeljack discreetly rubbed out a speck of dust that got stuck in his optic.

Sideswipe shot his brother a triumphant grin while Sunstreaker watched the proceedings with arms crossed in reluctant approval.

When Prowl came back with a relaxed Bluestreak in tow, Sunstreaker stepped up to meet them.

"Great, you had your happy family moment. What about mine?"

"Sunstreaker!" Wheeljack exclaimed, appalled by the gold mechlings blatant disrespect. But Prowl just held a hand up to the engineer, indicating that he would handle it.

"The last I heard, Red Alert was still in surgery," Prowl explained to Sunstreaker. "No one knows exactly how long it's going to take, but one mech gave me a conservative estimate of another six or seven joors."

Sideswipe got up and came up next to his tense brother.

"There isn't anything we can do for him right now," Prowl went on. "But if you would like to be close to him, you can sit in the waiting room for as long as you wish."

"Can I come too?" Bluestreak asked, looking up at his Caretaker.

Prowl shot Sunstreaker a questioning look. After a moment of stubborn hesitation, he shrugged with feigned casualness.

The tactitian placed a hand on top of the grey mechlings head as he answered. "Very well Bluestreak. I won't be able to sit in with you for very long, but so long as the three of you behave you may stay in the waiting room for as long as you like."

oOoOoOo

It was five joors into the operation, and the patient was still at a touch and go stage that had everyone fraying their last nerves. That Red Alert hadn't died on the table yet was encouraging, but nothing to celebrate.

Socket ducked out of the busy OR and paused for a klick, relishing the brief chance for silent peace. Compared to the organized mad house he had just left, the quiet, empty stillness of the larger Med bay was almost eery.

The greyed out corpse in the middle of the room like a macabre table center wasn't helping.

Socket made a wide circle around the deceased Phase Out and quickly gathered up the copper-based wires and circuit breakers he needed; they had already run out of their supply in the OR. As he collected the supplies, the paused and glanced back at the Decepticon. No, no, keeping that thing in the middle of the room like a morbid display wouldn't do at all. They should have at least kept it off to the side until someone got around to doing the autopsy – preferably in a dark, rarely used corner where no one would have to look at it.

Decision made, Socket went over and quickly wheeled the body to the wall, in a nice, inconspicuous corner next to the tall lockers. It blended oddly nicely to the wall; unless you were

looking for it, you might not even notice it was there. Perfect.

Satisfied, Socket turned the corpses head to the side so it was looking out into the med bay and ran a hand over the back of it before he let it be. He hurriedly picked up the items he came for and returned to the OR. He could already hear Ratchets loud, sharp commands breaking through every so often and guiding the assembled doctors and nurses like a general did with his troops.

Socket never paid any attention to the shadow beneath Phase Outs gurney, nor did he ever see the small, black creature with glowing red optics that hid within them.

oOoOoOo

Meanwhile, Jazz was having a mildly difficult time trying not to die.

Jazz swung his arm around the thick metal slab that was his cover and fired off three rounds before ducking back down, just in time to avoid having his own head shot off by nine more rounds coming the other way. The missed shots served to blast a particularly impressive crater in the wall behind him instead. Jazz raised one arm to shield himself from the small flying pieces of debris and shot a look to the left and right to gauge everyone else's condition.

Two orns ago Ultra Magnus had contacted Optimus about a search and rescue team of his that had gotten trapped, after attempting to evacuate neutrals in an area that had been getting increasingly dicey. Most of the Autobots and Neutrals had gotten out, but a small team had remained behind to check for anyone who had been left behind. They had planned to be out before the Decepticons could come too close, but obviously the troops had moved a lot faster than anyone had anticipated. Finding them was easy; Ultra Magnus still had their last coordinates and the team wouldn't have moved too much in that time. Getting the out again, however, would require a bit more…finesse.

This was where Optimus' Special Ops team came in.

The plan was simple: Sidestep would take most of the Special Ops team and create a diversion that would occupy the Decepticons, distracting them long enough for Jazz to lead everyone else out and back to safety. They had split up about a quarter joor ago, and things had seemed to be going well.

Right up until they exited the underground tunnels.

The blue mech who's designation Jazz hadn't had time to catch had sensed the tremors and called out a warning right before half a dozen digger drones burst out of the ground in a semi-circle in front of them and opened fire. The warning had been just enough for everyone to dive to cover behind anything they could find. But the digger drones weren't the problem: it was the five Decepticons with a Pit of a lot better marksmanship skills and actual armor who showed up shortly afterwards. More annoyingly, Jazz had used up his grenades just _getting_ to the trapped team in the first place. The visored mech took a quick look around to gauge everyone else's condition.

To Jazz's right, the blue mech who had detected the tremors first had found cover in a small upturned transport. He had no handheld weapons, but was instead relying on the cannons mounted on either of his shoulders. They were packing a punch, but the inevitable kickback made his aim suffer.

To Jazz's left, Squad leader for Ultra Magnus' team (big green mech named Springer if he remembered right) was holding his own behind a pillar, protectively covering the lone neutral they had found; a young red and yellow mech who had gotten separated from his family. A little beyond them was a blue and black femme armed with a regulation pistol. Jazz gave her credit for keeping cool under pressure, but her marksmanship was leaving something to be desired.

Behind them, the underground tunnel they had come from, still empty, but if they attempted a retreat they'd lineup like targets at a shooting range and be gunned down before they could get a half dozen paces. Up ahead, the Decepticons were getting braver and advancing closer. If they got a chance to circle around and come from behind, they would be overwhelmed.

This was very not good.

One Decepticon, a big rusty red and grey brute, stood up from his cover and tried to pepper Springer's half exposed head when the green mech poked it out to shoot. Springer ducked right back behind the piller, still hovering protectively over the neutral. Jazz lifted himself just high enough to peek over at the 'Con – right before his body jerked and he tumbled forward limpy, a new hole in the side of his head.

Jazz took a moment to be grateful for Mirage's awesome sniping skills, and to be extra glad Sidestep had thought to order the Towers mech to hang back rather than follow the rest of them into the tunnels.

_: : Jazz, it's Mirage. The Decepticons haven't located me yet, but they're starting to close in on my position. I'm going to have to relocate sooner than later, but I won't be able to cover you in the mean time. : : _

Jazz frowned and thought for half a klick.

_: : No Raj. Just get out of there while ya still can. We don't need t' risk losin' you. : :_

_: : But I- : :_

_: : Just go Raj! Before they find you! : :_

_: : …Yes Jazz. : :_

The Special Ops mech fervently hoped Mirage would be able to make it out safe. He didn't want to have to be the one to tell Hound otherwise.

Jazz lifted a hand to his head and activated his comm. _: : Sidestep, do you copy? : :_

_: : Make it fast Jazz, I'm a little busy right now. : :_

_: : We got ambushed on the way out and we're completely pinned. Any chance you can spare Swiftstrike or Turnabout? : :_

_: : Sorry Jazz, it's taking all we've got just to keep the main patrol of your backs. We'll to get to you when we can but – fraggit stay down! – but until then you're on your own. : : _

_: : Copy that. : :_

An intense burst of gunfire preceded a blue body landing heavily on all fours next to Jazz, frame shaking marginally from the exertion but no worse for wear for his run through the fire except for a painful looking scorch mark across his back. The blue mech crawled up next to the black and white one and sat up with his back against the slab.

"Not to sound pushy or anything, but if you happen to have a Plan B, now would be a great time to share it," he said calmly, like they were having a friendly discussion over oil treats.

"Still workin' on it," Jazz replied, peeking out and around and comparing the current landscape with the maps he downloaded before leaving this morning.

"Ah, okay," the other mech said. "Tell me, if we were able to get past this little obstacle of ours, would you be able to keep them from tracking us?"

"Absolutely."

"Perfect. I'll divert these Decepticon's attention long enough for you to get everyone else out of here."

Jazz whipped his head around at the mech.

"My mech, I am NOT about t' let you throw your life away with a suicide plan."

"My mech, you are vastly overestimating my generous self-sacrificing nature," the blue mech said dryly. "Trust me, I'm not _that_ good of an Autobot quite yet. Give me…exactly forty three klicks, and be ready to run."

"I didn't agree t' your plan yet."

"It's not open for discussion either. Forty three klicks Jazz, starting now."

Deaf to Jazz's protests, the mech pulled up and darted back down the tunnel they had come.

"Where's he going?" the neutral asked in wide opticked panic. "Is he leaving us? Is he leaving us?!"

"He's not leaving us!" the femme called back to him. "I know him; he would never abandon his allies."

"But at least we'll know for sure in exactly 44 klicks!" Springer added unhelpfully. He flinched as a corner of the slab came right off and landed on his shoulder. His shelter was starting to come apart. If he was going to do anything, it was going to be now or never, not 'now or 44 klicks from now'.

Okay, two choices: sprint and circle around and make the 'Cons think there is a second Autobot wave coming from another side and have Springer lead the others out…or hold tight and trust that the blue mech knew what he was doing.

"Just hang tight kid, and we'll be out of here before you know it." Jazz called to him cheerfully as he cocked his pistols.

The following forty klicks would be some of the longest in Jazz's life, to that point at least. Jazz kept the timer ticking in the back of his head, but kept his focus on keeping his sights on the enemy and their drones, focusing on any that looked like they were trying to circle around and barking directions at the other Autobots if they had a better line of sight than he did.

At precisely forty three klicks, the tide changed…in a fashion most bizarre.

A thick black smog appeared and rolled down, engulfing the Decepticons and, defying conventional physics, just hovered over them. Gunfire was replaced by shouts of confusion and anger, and at least one misfire where one trigger happy idiot tried to continue his assault and one of his cohorts paid the price for it.

Jazz didn't waste any time gaping at the phenomenon.

He jumped up to a sprint and smacked Springer and the femme between the shoulder blades as he passed, grabbing their attention.

"That's the signal lady and gent. Springer, grab the kid and move!"

They took off at a run, sliding down and jumping off a small slope down into a trench and running along the bottom until they got to the nearby underpass, away from the 'Cons, their reinforcements, and the hostile dangers. They didn't stop running until they were well beyond the Decepticon territory line.

_~ 2 joors later ~ _

The bunker was a bit cramped with too many 'bots vying for a piece of flat floor to lie down in, it badly needed windows and had clearly seen better times if the slightly worrisome rust patches in non-vital areas were any indication, but it was well hidden and safe, the perfect spot to rendezvous and recuperate after a physically and mentally exhausting orn. Springer was still keeping a close watch on the neutral as the femme gently talked him through his experience, but the 15 vorn old mech, now known to all as Hot Rod, seemed to be doing okay. With a bit of luck, he'd be back with his family in a couple of orns top, just as soon as they were able to contact them and let them know that he had been found. Sidestep was mainly glad that everyone had made it to the bunker in one piece.

Well, almost everyone.

Sidestep exited the bunker and took a moment to absorb the peaceful quiet, before looking over to where his unofficial second stood. Jazz had been standing there, looking out into the distance, simply…waiting. Sidestep quietly came up next to him and looked out as well. Neither of them said anything for several moments.

"You know we won't be able to wait for him indefinitely," Sidestep reminded him.

"_We_ can't," Jazz emphasized. "I ain't leavin' him behind."

"I'm preemptively forbidding you from staging a single mech rescue mission for another mech of unknown location and status," Sidestep deadpanned.

Jazz didn't say anything, just kept watching the horizon. Sidestep gave him a sidelong look.

"You already know this, but it bears repeating: you can't hope to save everyone. If you try, you'll risk paying too high a price: more lives, or your own life. Hope is all well and good – it's what keeps us sane – but you also need to be reasonable. Otherwise, you'll either burn out from all the disappointment and guilt, or go completely mad instead."

Sidestep looked back out into the horizon. Jazz's lips pressed a little more tightly together.

"Maybe you're right," he conceded. "But I won't ever give up on anybot unless I know he _ain't_ comin' back."

Sidestep smiled just slightly at the younger mechs stubbornness. He had always been an optimistic mech. Maybe that was why Sidestep liked having him around: it was a refreshing change to have a mech at his side who could honestly still believe in the best outcome.

Suddenly they both twitched and stood a little straighter as both their sensitive sensors detected what their optics couldn't see yet.

"I totally shoulda bet credits on this," Jazz said with a smirk.

"Ah, but I never actually said I didn't think he'd make it," Sidestep countered.

"Now you're just splittin' wires."

Sidestep took a step forward as the blue hovercar pulled up. It slowed to a stop and transformed into a familiar blue and red mech who was looking entirely too smug with himself, if the little grin and raised wings were any indication. Without preamble, Sidestep spoke first.

"Going off what Jazz told me of you and you're little trick for saving everyone's collective aft, I'm going to assume you're the Diversionary tactician Smokescreen. I'm starting to regret letting Ultra Magnus snatch you up first."

"What can I say? Can't help the luck of the draw," Smokescreen said, his grin widening slightly as if laughing at an inside joke.

"I've been talking to everyone about what had happened before we found you team," Sidestep went on. "Obviously, you're the last. What can you tell me about the mission?"

"Not much more that you would have already gotten from Springer," Smokescreen admitted. "It was a mission to facilitate the evacuation of a small Neutral alcove that found itself a little closer to the Decepticon's than they were comfortable with. It was a joint venture between Ultra Magnus and Elita One – three guesses which of us is from the Contingent. In any case, we found out that one or two neutrals had been left behind in the rush, so the three of us volunteered to go back and get him. We figured, between us we'd be able to keep optics out on all sides and have enough firepower to fight off the random scouting party we'd likely come across. It took us longer than we anticipated finding Hot Rod, but by then our escape route had been too badly compromised. We spent two orns trying to stay hidden before you guys showed up."

"There were almost a dozen bots in the original mission roster," Sidestep pointed out. "What made you three decide to go back?"

"Partially because we volunteered, mostly because Springer figured we balanced out pretty good for the mission parameters," Smokescreen explained. "He brought me along in case we needed to run without getting shot in the back, with the bonus points of being a former psychologist."

Sidestep and Jazz exchanged a look.

"You've had psychology training?" Sidestep asked.

"I worked as a psychologist before the war," Smokescreen said. "We had no idea what mental state the lost Neutral would be in. Just to be safe, Springer figured it'd be helpful to have someone with some actual training around to help talk the Neutral down in case he was too frightened or traumatized to listen."

"So you've worked with traumatized patients a lot, with post traumatic stress disorder even?" Jazz interjected. Smokescreen started to answer, but stopped with an odd look.

"Where exactly is this going?" he asked.

Sidestep placed a hand on his shoulder. "The Headquarters are closer to here than Ultra Magnus' main base. We'll be stopping by there for rest and repairs before we send anyone on their way. But so long as you're visiting us, there's a mechling or three we'd like for you to speak too…"

End Ch. 8


	9. Waiting

**AN: **First off, I want to apologize to everyone for taking so long to update. I'm not usually this bad, I swear! So let's all hope I can keep the pace up from now on, eh? Before we get started, there are two special mentions I should make:

First, let's give a round of applause to my new Beta reader, **Peacewish**, who read through the chapter, fixed up my grammer, and will be providing a much needed sounding board for the plot. Because she' just so cool like that.

Second, this chapter is dedicated to **Misao-CG**, one of the sweetest, most dedicated reviewers I've ever had. Every writer should be blessed to have someone like her, because it's readers like her that make writing such a joy.

Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year

Deca-orn = 10 orns/1 TF week

Orn = 2 weeks/ 1 TF day

Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.

Breem = 8.3 minutes.

Klick = less than a second

888888888

Ch. 9 – Waiting

The med bay was divided into two main areas: the larger, general purpose room where the majority of patients went for repairs and checkups, and the emergency room for the most serious of procedures. There were even a couple of IC berths in the back, although any one so badly damaged to warrant it would be swiftly transported to an Iacon hospital for long term treatment.

Adjacent to the med bay was the waiting room. It was sparse, with only chairs lining the walls and two doors, one to the greater med bay and the other into the hallway. There wasn't even a table with ancient news or bookfiles like most hospitals had. All that filled the room were lots of empty chairs, three mechlings, and one mech.

The mech was sitting by the door, partially obscured by a multi-colored but primarily blue holographic screen that hovered at just the right height and distance for his use, numbers, graphs and maps littering the multiple windows. His hands were in constant motion, bringing up new screens, inputting calculations, drawing up simulations with the speed and practiced grace of an orchestra conductor.

While his hands never stopped moving, occasionally he would look through the display to check on the mechlings. Not that any of them were doing anything to be worried about.

The yellow one kept pacing around the room, back and forth, in a circle, like a caged animal. Occasionally he'd take a seat, arms crossed and fingers drumming on his arm, but it never lasted for more than a breem before he was back on his pedes. He simply couldn't stay still. Prowl deduced he was the type who preferred action to… anything really. He was going to need some sort of distraction sooner than later.

The red one had recently fallen asleep sideways in his chair, arms crossed with his head resting forward and his knees over the other armrest. The position looked thoroughly uncomfortable to Prowl, but then again Sideswipe was a lot smaller and didn't have sensor panels to worry about. Prowl let him sleep; his struts were going to be sore as soon as he woke up, but after the stress he'd been through recently, the mechling needed his rest more.

The grey one, smallest of all, was seated next to Sideswipe with the drawing pad Hoist had gifted him on his arrival, knees drawn up as an impromptu table and focusing on his artwork with extreme concentration. Occasionally he'd stop to consider his work, or to look around to check on Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Once he decided that nothing had changed without his notice, he'd go back to his drawing.

With slight variations, this had been the state of things ever since they came here joors earlier.

Prowl's hands paused when a message popped up at the corner of his screen. He immediately shut down the console and stood, gaining Sunstreaker's and Bluestreak's attentions.

"I need to check on something," Prowl told them. "I won't be gone for long."

Bluestreak nodded. Sunstreaker made a dismissive 'hmph' sound before wandering over to take the empty seat on Bluestreak's other side. As Prowl exited the room, Sunstreaker leaned over Bluestreak's shoulder to peek at his drawing.

"You're doing it wrong," he said bluntly.

Prowl strode purposefully down the halls. A new opportunity had come to his attention, but his target's location wasn't specified. But it was simplicity itself to rule out possible locations and, taking into account events, circumstances, and a little psychology, narrow it down to the one place Prowl would most likely find him.

This was the absolute only reason why Prowl found himself outside the rec room at its busiest and most crowded.

Prowl stopped short of actually entering the room. He had fully intended to simply stride in, but the room was crowded and loud and everyone kept moving around and…

No, it did not make him feel irrationally uncomfortable or anxious. There was no logical reason for anxiety in briefly mingling with the mechs he worked with everyday in a place that was completely safe and secure. He simply… preferred to avoided crowded areas because his wide and sensitive sensor panels tended to get bumped around, creating sensory overloads and painful migraines.

Yes. That was the only reason he did not wish to go inside.

Instead, he leaned back against the wall next to the door, crossed his arms, and waited. He had calculated his approach well enough that he didn't have to wait long.

Less than half a breem later, the only other black and white mech currently on base sauntered out of the rec room right in front of him.

"Hello, Jazz."

"Waaah!"

Jazz spun half around in surprise to face Prowl.

"Primus, don't DO that t' me Prowler!" he exclaimed.

"Jazz, if I am able to sneak up on you, a member of Sidestep's own Special Ops team, then you should seriously consider refreshing your training."

Jazz started to answer, but stopped.

"Did you just… make a joke?" he asked in exaggerated awe.

"Of course not. I merely made an observation," Prowl corrected, pushing off the wall.

"Watcha doin' staking out th' rec room anyways?" Jazz asked, crossing his arms.

"I received your message a short while ago," Prowl answered. "I know that your return would please Bluestreak and possibly help to uplift Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's spirits, but I deemed it prudent to ascertain for myself the condition of your being before I made them aware of this fact."

Jazz needed a moment to process the answer, before he broke into a wide grin.

"You were _worried_ about me!" he translated happily.

Prowl's panels rose minutely as he stiffened.

"You have been on two high risk missions over the course of three orns," Prowl reminded him, a tad woodenly. "You have a tendency to brush off or play down injuries or energy depletions that are not an immediate threat to your life, necessitating the need for my own confirmation."

Prowl had absolutely no idea how Jazz did it with a optic-hiding visor, but something about the subtle tilt of his head and the curve of his lips gave the distinct impression that he had just raised an optic ridge at him.

"Sooo… how long have ya been keepin' a watch on me?" Jazz asked.

Prowl's panels drew back slightly but sharply in defense.

"I should go."

"Whoa, hold it Prowl!" Jazz said quickly, catching the Praxian by the shoulder before he could slip away. If he noticed the way Prowl stiffened at the contact, or how his facial features almost cringed, he didn't show it. But he was quick to drop his hand once Prowl had stopped trying to run away.

"Sorry, Prowl," Jazz said instead. "I didn't mean t' make you think I was makin' fun of ya or nothin'. I'm just, kinda glad that it's you watchin' m' back. I'm grateful, really. Ya dig?"

"….It's 'anything.'"

Jazz shuttered his optics. "Say what?"

"What you just said, 'wasn't makin' fun of ya or nothing.'' That's a double negative. It should have been 'or anything.'"

Jazz stared for a moment, but smiled in pleased understanding. This was, after all, the closest to a forgiveness Prowl could express.

"Oh! That reminds me!" Jazz exclaimed suddenly. "There's someone you really oughta meet. Gimme two klicks t' grab him."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Jazz popped back into the rec room.

Prowl stood absolutely still in the hall for a few klicks, and then silently stepped back against the wall to wait.

True to his word, Jazz took little time to return. When Prowl caught sight of the mech he brought in tow, he pushed off the wall again out of genuine surprise.

"Prowl, meet Smokescreen. Smokescreen, Prowl." Jazz introduced with a smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," the blue Praxian said, stretching out a hand.

Prowl took it, even as he analyzed Jazz's purpose in this.

There were a little over 200 Praxians in the Autobot army and not quite a thousand more scattered across the city-states. A small percentage compared to the lives lost, enough to make Praxians an unusual sight for generations. But it wasn't so much that Prowl thought that meeting another would necessitate a strong reaction from him. Did Jazz think that Prowl would benefit by having an associate who also lost their home city? Or did he assume that, as fellow Praxians, they would automatically be compatible as friends? Jazz's intentions were good, Prowl good see that, but he still felt annoyed by the condescending-

"He used to work as a psychologist before the war," Jazz added helpfully.

Oh. That made sense.

"Have you ever worked with younglings or patients with post-traumatic stress?" Prowl questioned.

"Hi, nice to meet you too, I'm doing well, thank you," Smokescreen said with a dry grin.

Prowl pulled back, embarrassed. "My apologies; I did not intend to be rude."

Smokescreen waved off the apology.

"No worries. Considering where you're coming from, I can't blame you for having a one-track mind right now. But yeah, I've worked with many patients dealing with traumatic experiences, obviously more often since the war started. I'll still do whatever I can to help Bluestreak, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but I should mention I've only been trained to work with adults."

Smokescreen raised a finger before Prowl could say anything.

"But!" he went on. "I did just so happen to bring a youngling behavioral expert with me!"

oOoOoOo

"See, when you make this part a little bit darker, you make a shadow and give him depth. But when you make this part lighter, it draws your optics to this point. Now you try."

Bluestreak took the drawing pad back and, with the careful even strokes that Sunstreaker showed him, tried to find the places where the shadows should be. Slowly, and with a glance up at the gold mechling for approval, he started shading in the back of the picture-mech's leg.

Sunstreaker was many things, few of them complimentary, but Bluestreak would not have guessed that "really good art teacher" would have been one of them. At least he wasn't pacing any more, and seemed much more relaxed now that he had something else to focus on… even if he was a bit of a perfectionist and tended to be entirely too blunt when pointing out mistakes in Bluestreak's technique.

Bluestreak didn't mind though. It was a good distraction, for the both of them.

Hands froze and heads snapped up when the door slid open.

"Whoops. Sorry, I think I got a little turned around," the femme apologized.

Sunstreaker didn't recognize her, and if she was unfamiliar with the base she obviously didn't belong here. So his natural sense of grace and hospitality demanded he answer her appropriately.

"Go away."

The femme just smiled and entered the room all the way, letting the door automatically shut behind her. Sunstreaker was out of his seat, arms crossed and glaring. Bluestreak just watched from his seat behind his newly erected golden wall of irate youngling.

"Don't worry, I don't usually bite," the femme said pleasantly. "I'm actually going to be staying here on the base for the next little bit, until I can go back to the Contingent. We might even get to know each other in that time."

"Maybe I don't _want_ to get to know you," Sunstreaker retorted defiantly.

The stupid femme just wouldn't stop smiling, which was grating on Sunstreaker's nerve wires even worse. Was she seriously that dense?

"If you don't want to, you don't have to," she said simply, infuriatingly patient. "There are so many cool bots here already, I can't blame you for not being all that interested in plain old me."

"I don't think you're plain," Bluestreak piped up.

The femme's smile flickered just slightly. Sunstreaker's optics narrowed; he didn't know what it was, but something about that flicker, that darting of her optics, the twitch in her smile, gave him the sense that Bluestreak talking had thrown her off for a moment. But it should not have been that strange at all… unless she had known about his former muteness.

'_Just who the slag are you supposed to be?'_ he wondered.

"You don't, huh?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she addressed the smallest youngling.

"No," Bluestreak said in simple honesty. "I think you're really pretty."

The femme didn't seem to have expected that. She straightened a bit as if surprised, her smile falling into a small 'o' shape. She stared at Bluestreak, her optics slowing growing wider and wider, like a sparkling looking at something sweet and tasty.

Bluestreak sunk a little deeper into his seat.

"Um…wh-why are you looking at me like that?"

oOoOoOo

"Elita leant her out to us for the mission because of her extensive experiences and training in assisting younglings, something that was hugely useful when it came to evacuating the families, with a double bonus of her working in the Contingent's security since she enlisted," Smokescreen was saying as he followed Prowl down the hallways. "She's not a psychologist or a therapist exactly, but between the two of use we'll hopefully be able to cover all the bases."

"For as long as you are able to remain," Prowl finished.

Smokescreen shrugged. "Better than nothing."

"You sure I need t' be here?" Jazz asked from the back of the line. "'Cause I don't wanna crowd Blue or anythin'."

"Bluestreak would rather see you first than a pair of strangers," Prowl told him. "Until we have decided on a proper course of action, I don't see the need to rush any meetings with anyone, even with psychologists and social workers. Speaking of which, Smokescreen, where did you say she would be?"

"Last I knew she was looking for your Communications Room to send an update to Elita One about what happened," Smokescreen answered. "You might be able to catch her there later."

"Are you certain of her credentials?" Prowl asked as they approached the waiting room door.

"If you don't believe me, you can always ask Elita One herself. She's known her since before the war blew up. She's nothing if not sensitive, intelligent, and above all, professional."

The door slid open.

"YOU ARE SO CUUUUTE!"

"Waaa-aaaaa-aaaaah!"

"Put him down, you psycho!"

"I got him I got him I – don't got him!"

The three mechs froze.

In the middle of the waiting room, a black and blue femme was pirouetting madly around with a wildly confused Bluestreak in her arms. The mechling was facing outwards, with the femme's arms under his and going across his chest, centrifugal force swinging his lower body out. Around them ran Sunstreaker and the now awake Sideswipe, arms ups and yelling and trying to catch Bluestreak as if afraid he would go flying at any moment. Considering how fast the obliviously happy femme was spinning him around, it was probably justified. The femme herself, from the glimpses that could be caught of her face, looked almost ecstatically happy, like a femmeling who just found a stray, loveable turbo-pup.

Which, come to think of it, was probably exactly what happened.

"Professional, you say?" Prowl deadpanned.

"She really loves younglings."

"I see."

The femme stopped pirouetting and snuggled the dizzy Bluestreak up like a beloved oversized doll, her optics closed in blissful happiness.

"You are so sweet and adorable, I could just eat you up!" she gushed.

"I would rather you did not," Prowl said.

The femme's optics snapped open, joy flipping to blank surprise with the abruptness of a thrown switch. She straightened up, and saw the three new mechs standing in front of her: a stone faced Praxian, the familiar and grinning Smokescreen, and a visored mech who looked like he was trying exceedingly hard not to burst out laughing.

"Oh," she said quietly, gently dropping Bluestreak to the floor. Sideswipe kept a hand on his shoulder while he regained his senses.

Smokescreen slid up so he was between her and Prowl, gesturing grandly with his hands as he presented them to each other. "Prowl, I'd like you to meet Sparklight, the Contingent's in-training Security Director and former Social Worker for the Youth Sectors. Sparklight, meet Prowl. I'm pretty sure you still remember Jazz."

"Pleasure to meet you," the femme – Sparklight – said with a slight bow that, conveniently, helped to hide her darkening, madly blushing optics. Now that she wasn't imitating a spinning top, Prowl was able to get a good look at her.

Her coloring was primarily black and blue, as he had noticed already, but she also had streaks of white here and there as highlights. She was rather small, about a head shorter than Prowl himself (who wasn't that terribly tall to begin with), but her most distinct features were the sensor panels spreading outwards from her shoulders. She was not Praxian – the panels were too narrow and rounded at the corners, her chassis was too streamlined and she lacked the chevron – but from the way they twitched slightly, they probably emoted about as well as his own did. Considering that she had worked in the Youth Sectors, Prowl guessed that for her, the panels' primary focus was keeping track of lots of small, moving bodies.

A youngling's worst nightmare: an adult with optics on the back of their heads.

"Well at least nobody has t' worry 'bout you gettin' along with the little ones," Jazz commented merrily.

The mech's distinct voice snapped Bluestreak out of his daze. His optics flew open and his panels perked up at attention. As soon as he laid sight on Jazz, he broke out in the biggest smile his face could hold.

"Hey little guy, come n' say hi t' me!" Jazz said merrily as he stepped up, ready for his customary hug.

Not about to disappoint, Bluestreak shrugged off Sideswipe's steadying hand and ran over to Jazz's waiting arms.

"Jazz!" he exclaimed happily as he leapt into waiting arms.

Said waiting arms were frozen stiff in shock. Prowl crossed his arms and had the unique, rare sensation of wanting to smirk.

"Bluestreak…" Jazz said slowly. "Did you just… speak?"

The mechling craned his head back to beam up at Jazz. "Yeah huh!"

"With your own voice and everything?"

"Not really. Sideswipe's letting me borrow his today."

Prowl wondered if perhaps Bluestreak had been spending a bit too much time with the twins as of late.

Jazz snapped out of his shock with an almost crazy laugh. Without warning shock flipped to ecstatic, laughing joy as Jazz lifted Bluestreak up and swung him around, the mechling laughing in surprise at the impromptu ride. Prowl stepped off to the side as Jazz danced around with Bluestreak, fit to bursting and seeming to revel in every little sound Bluestreak made, now that his silence was broken.

Sparklight slid up to stand next to him with a little smile of her own. "Warms your spark, doesn't it?" she commented as she watched Jazz pull the giggling Bluestreak in for a tight hug. "It's always wonderful whenever an orphaned youngling comes to love their Caretaker so much."

Prowl started to nod, then tensed.

"Actually, I am Bluestreak's designated Caretaker," Prowl corrected, his tone sharper and harsher than he had meant.

Sparklight whirled at him, optics deepening in another mortified blush.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean, um, sorry, I just assumed, since Bluestreak was so happy… no one had time to tell me who exactly was the Caretaker, so I just assumed…"

Sparklight's ramblings trailed off as Bluestreak's giggles morphed into sobs.

"Hey hey, what's wrong?" Jazz asked, clearly alarmed but trying to offer gentle comfort.

Bluestreak didn't answer. He only tightened his grip around Jazz's neck and buried his face deeper under his chin, as if trying to meld with the mech. Tears fell openly from his optics, and while he was not a loud crier, in the dead silent room his soft cries seemed to thunder.

Prowl could see that Bluestreak was crying. It was the first time he had _seen_ him actually cry since being brought back from Praxus. Bluestreak was upset, he needed to be comforted, he needed someone to gently ask him what was wrong, he needed to be assured that whatever it was that had him so emotionally vulnerable, everything was still going to be alright…

Prowl froze.

Sparklight didn't.

"It's probably stress," she said, as she came around so she could speak to Jazz face to face. Jazz hefted the mechling a little higher with one arm, rubbed his back in slow circles with the other, and (along with Prowl and everyone else) gave Sparklight his rapt attention.

"Considering everything that's happened since this morning, the relief of seeing someone he cares about come home safe was probably the release he needed," Sparklight said. Her optics dimmed momentarily as she checked her chronometer.

"It's getting late anyway. If he hasn't refueled yet this evening, I would like to suggest you go ahead and grab some energon and try to get some rest. That goes for you too, Prowl; after so much chaos and upheaval today, what he really needs is a sense of security, and as his Caretaker he's going to be looking to you to give it. Tomorrow, make sure you stick as much to your regular routine as you can – it'll also help with that security and peace of mind."

Prowl could only nod.

Sparklight turned her attention to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, the former looking severely frustrated, the latter mostly awkward and not knowing what he was supposed to do.

"I'm not going anywhere, and neither is Sideswipe," Sunstreaker snapped before Sparklight could say anything.

"Of course not," she said smoothly. "I was just wondering if you and your brother were starting to feel a little hungry – you don't exactly want to pass out from energy depletion before your brother can wake up, after all. Everyone already has their own duties, so I'm afraid you'll have to retrieve it yourself from the rec room."

Sunstreaker didn't say anything.

"It won't even take a breem," Sparklight added. "You're not going to miss anything."

Sunstreaker wanted to be stubborn, if only for the sake of being obstinate. But… well, his tanks had been yelling at him for the last half joor, and it was getting harder to ignore.

"Sure, why not," Sunstreaker muttered, moving past them all.

"I'll go too," Sideswipe said suddenly, hurrying after his brother. If everyone else was going to leave anyway, he didn't want to have to wait in the wide, empty room by himself with just his thoughts and memories.

As they disappeared, Jazz looked at Sparklight.

"Y'know, I could've brought them cubes a little later," he pointed out.

"True, but at least this way they get to leave the waiting room, get some exercise, and hopefully talk to a few bots and get their minds off of their brother on the operating table. They desperately needed the break from waiting and contemplating worst case scenarios, and this was just the easiest way to get them to take a short one."

"Clever," Jazz commented. "Prowler, you wanna take Blue back t' your room?"

"No!" Bluestreak exclaimed, tightening his hold on Jazz even more. Jazz rocked his head back slightly in surprise. Prowl did not even flinch at the sharp stab in his spark.

"Jazz, I think it would be best if you took him for now," he said evenly.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sparklight interjected with a smile. "Perhaps Prowl can grab him a cube from the rec room as well. And if you don't mind me tagging along, I'd really appreciate it if you could point me to the Communications room on the way."

Prowl experienced a brief but intense flash of annoyance at the femme's constant interjections and how she kept manipulating the situation. But since there was nothing wrong with what she said, and all her suggestions were only beneficial for Bluestreak, the feeling passed quickly in favor of simple pragmatism. So when Jazz glanced at him, Prowl simply nodded once in approval.

"Sure Sparky, it'll just be two steps outta the way," Jazz said to the femme.

And so everyone filed out of the waiting room for their separate destinations. Bluestreak did not look up from Jazz's neck, and Prowl fought off the temptation to look back.

It didn't escape Prowl's ever keen sense of observation that Smokescreen was following him.

"Jazz kinda pulled me out of a middle of a card game," he said by way of explanation.

Prowl had no comment.

Due to the width of the hallway and their own sensor panels, Prowl and Smokescreen didn't have the room to walk side by side. But Smokescreen was content to follow Prowl by a step, and Prowl didn't feel the need to look at him when he finally spoke.

"What is it that you want?"

"To go back to the rec room and salvage what's left of my game," Smokescreen said cheerfully.

Prowl turned his head to look back at the other Praxian. "I can surmise that Sparklight wanted to follow Jazz so she can talk to Bluestreak a little and learn more about him. Since you already admitted to having more experience with adults than children, I can also guess you're going to try observing me."

Smokescreen didn't even look embarrassed at be caught out. "Aren't you at least going to give me a point for trying to be subtle?"

"I would prefer you asked your questions now and not waste my time." Prowl said coolly, turning his head forward again.

Smokescreen held his hands in mock defense. "Alright, alright, I get it, you like getting straight to the point. Alright, let me lay it out for you: we've got four orphaned mechlings of various ages with entirely too much first hand war experiences who are going to be needing a lot of help coming to terms with it. Sparklight and I are the best choices they've got right now, and we're going to be needing everyone's cooperation to give it to them."

Prowl frowned. Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe…"Who's the fourth mechling?"

"A 15-vorn old named Hot Rod. He was separated from his relatives and wound up getting trapped in 'Con territory. Our mission was his rescue, and Springer's been keeping him under his wing until we're able to track down the rest of his family. Poor kid nearly has a panic attack any time he's left completely alone or if anyone other than Springer tries to come too close to him. It's like he's expecting a 'Con to jump up and shoot him around every corner."

Prowl flashed back to a deca-orn earlier and a much younger mechling with terror in his optics and a constant, trembling grip.

"Sparklight's the one who really gets younglings, but I was hoping to get a chance to talk to them all too," Smokescreen admitted. "Not in an office with a couch or anything. Something more relaxed, like over a game in the rec room, where they might be a little less guarded. Sunstreaker at least didn't strike me as the type who'd readily open up to a psychologist if he could help it."

Prowl turned his head so he could pin Smokescreen with one cold blue optic.

"I understand your reasoning, Smokescreen, but you and Sparklight are both still strangers to me. I am not about to surrender a large portion of Bluestreak's care until I have sufficient information about the both of you, and I don't appreciate either of your attempts to insert yourselves into his life so quickly without consulting me first."

Smokescreen bowed his head as he accepted the criticism.

"Sorry, Prowl. I didn't mean to come across as pushy or rude. I'm only trying to present what I believe are the best options. And frankly, what with the insane upheaval all the mechlings have been through lately, they're going to need lots of friendly, familiar faces. Bluestreak and the twins at least are going to be handed over to the Contingent eventually, and if they can get to know Sparklight ahead of time it'll make the transition easier."

"She's not taking Bluestreak away just yet either," Prowl said sharply.

Smokescreen nearly tripped over his own feet. The contrast between the unexpectedly harsh words to Prowl's formerly near-placid monotone was as jarring as a verbal fortress wall on a highway. Confusion was short lived, however, and he took a few seconds to compose himself until he could stop grinning.

"Still…"

The grin faded away naturally as Prowl's tone changed again, to something quieter. Subdued. Smokescreen might even venture to call it 'sad.'

"Still," Prowl repeated, "you make a point I cannot refute. I do what I can, but I am objective enough to recognize that I fall short in too many capacities as a Caretaker. If it hadn't been for Jazz, Bluestreak would probably still be hiding in my shadow, afraid of every mech who came too close and constantly afraid that I would disappear if I so much as left the room."

Unconsciously, Smokescreens panels lowered minutely in sympathy.

"Ever wonder if maybe you're just not giving yourself enough credit?" Smokescreen asked. "I don't see Optimus assigning anyone to be Bluestreak's Caretaker if he wasn't absolutely sure he could do it, even if it's just temporary. And there is nothing wrong for asking for help when you need it. Sparklight's worked in the Youth Center for _vorns_, and she can tell you stories about adoptions that didn't go nearly as smooth as what you and Blue have going on."

"Bluestreak accepted me because I found him first, and because I was another Praxian like him," Prowl countered as they stopped in front of the lift. "He associated me with safety early on, and has ever since. I can shelter him, provide his physical needs, but I can't…"

_Crystal blue tears running tracks down his cheeks, burying his face in Jazz's neck as he held on, as if afraid he would disappear the moment he let go. Panels trembling with the force of his silent, thundering sobs. He was watching, unable to think, move, act. Frozen. Helpless._

_Useless._

"…provide for his emotional ones."

The doors slid open and Prowl stepped through quickly. When the doors shut, he realized that Smokescreen was looking at him, almost as if he was studying him. But his expression was so carefully neutral Prowl couldn't fathom what he was thinking. It… unsettled him a bit, and he kept his own gaze steadfastly forward so he wouldn't have to look at him

"You know, Prowl, if the folks at Youth Centers only accepted perfect bonded pairs to adopt or foster orphans, I don't think they'd ever place another youngling again," Smokescreen said. "I don't think you really get just how much help you've been to little Blue already."

"Considering that you've never met Bluestreak before today and you've only known me for a breem, neither do you," Prowl pointed out. "Sparklight spent the entire orn thinking _Jazz_ was the Caretaker. You probably did too until Jazz introduced us."

A smile tugged on the corner of Smokescreens lips. "Well, I can't say you're wrong. But that's partly Jazz's fault, really. I guess he's so used to everyone already being in the know about you and Bluestreak, he honestly forgot to clarify it for the rest of us. Sparklight asked Jazz if he could tell us a little about him, and once we got him going Jazz couldn't stop going on and on about him. He really does adore him, you know, just like he was his own sparkling almost. It's no wonder Bluestreak has coped as well as he has – between the two of you, it's like he has a two parent family unit again."

Prowl gave Smokescreen an extremely odd look.

Smokesreen ignored it completely.

"In any case, Jazz outlined a fairly detailed picture of Bluestreak's state when you first found him, and I could compare that description to what I saw in front of me today," he went on. "I don't know how you did it, but I don't think I've ever seen anybody come to terms with survivor's guilt so quickly, let alone someone so young."

"What makes you so sure of that?" Prowl asked.

Smokescreen gave Prowl a significant look. "Because for someone who saw the destruction of his home city and spent two orns honestly believing he was the last bot alive on Cybertron just a deca-orn and a half ago, he's incredibly well adjusted. Primus Below, do you realize he completely ignored me, another Praxian, in favor of Jazz?"

"You consider that significant?"

"For someone in his position? Pit yes. You would think he would make a bigger fuss at finding other surviving Praxians, considering he was the only survivor of the Praxus Attack."

"True. But Bluestreak doesn't know that."

Smokescreen's expression went blank.

"….What?"

The lift doors opened up, and Prowl exited. It took Smokescreen an extra klick or two to snap out and catch up.

"Bluestreak was traumatized enough as it was when we first found him," Prowl explained as he led the way again. "No one wanted to make it even worse by explaining the details about how he lost his home and family."

"So what in the name of Primus have you been telling him?" Smokescreen questioned incredulously.

"I planned on telling him the general truth when he was ready," Prowl said. "I believed that he would ask me himself when the time was right, and that I would be able to answer him as truthfully as I could, depending what I believed at that time he was capable of handling. Since it hasn't come up, I haven't broached the topic myself yet."

Prowl took another four or five steps before he realized that Smokescreen had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Smokescreen?"

"Not once?" he repeated hoarsely. "Not once? He's never asked where his creators are, his friends, why he can't go home, why the attack happened… he hasn't asked _anything_?"

Prowl turned around to face Smokescreen again.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

Smokescreen shook his head, more in disbelief than denial, and trotted up to Prowl to close the distance before he spoke again.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Jazz told me about his fragmented memories, but since no one's tried taking him through what's left, I can't even speculate what's going on in his head right now. Maybe he's afraid to find out, or for some reason is afraid of asking. It's just a little… disquieting that he's accepted everything that's being thrown at him so easily without once questioning it."

"Do you feel there is something wrong?" Prowl asked just as neutrally as before.

Smokescreen shrugged. "Like I said, I can't even begin to guess what's going on inside his head before I have a chance to even talk to him. That's why Sparklight wanted to set up a tutoring program for as long as she's here."

The sudden shift in topic almost threw Prowl off. But he caught on quick.

"She plans to take on tutoring duties, so that she might develop a relationship with the younglings on an individual basis and discreetly observe their emotional progress and mental states, then."

Smokescreen had stopped being surprised by Prowls annoyingly accurate deductions. "That's the gist of it. But the most important part is that it'll put them on a consistent schedule and give them something productive to do when you and everyone else are busy with work. Hopefully, it'll also help make them feel more comfortable, having a reliable routine like school again. They'll have to be tested first so we can figure out where they stand, but getting the tests and home schooling aids shouldn't be too hard."

"So long as any schooling schedule is sent to me first for approval, that is acceptable," Prowl said.

He entered the rec room doors, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Nearly the entire room, about a dozen mechs in all, was gathered around one table. Some were standing at the edge, some were reclining in chairs as they sipped their drinks, and still others were literally on the edge of their seat, their cubes forgotten in their hands. Sitting at the front of the crowd, Prowl could see the backs of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and the side of a predominately orange and red mechling with conspicuous yellow wings (Hot Rod?) who was clearly captivated by the story. Since the twins were seated cross legged on the floor next to the taller youngling in front of the chairs and were stiller than Prowl had ever seen the energetic pair before, they probably were feeling much the same as Hot Rod.

And what was it that had captured everyone's interest so completely?

"I remember the dust was so thick on Beta-4 you had to use wipers on your optic sensors. And then from out of the dust storm this gigantic Ikyak came tromping and stomping down the mountain, flames spewing out of its nostrils."

Prowl had always respected Kup for his experience and insight, though he hadn't had a chance to spend much time with him. But seeing the old and sometimes crotchety mech tell a story to a captive audience, completely with animated hand movements as he described the Ikyak, was a tad jarring for the more stoic mech.

"Well at least now we can tell Sparklight her distraction plan was an unexpected success," Smokescreen noted gleefully.

The blue Praxian stepped around Prowl and sauntered over to the gathering, grabbing a spare chair on the way. The cards lay abandoned at a separate table, and this looked more interesting anyway.

Shaking his head at Kup's ability to turn his experiences into high adventure tales, Prowl bypassed the crowd and simply retrived two cubes of energon, one for Bluestreak and one for Jazz, in case the spy hadn't had a chance to properly refuel since he got back. Granted, Jazz didn't have the unfortunate habit of neglecting his health for the sake of work as a certain tactician occasionally did, but just in case.

Now that Prowl was bereft of company, the long walk to his quarters left him time to think. And, naturally, his train of thought picked up where he and Smokescreen had left off.

Up until now, Prowl hadn't given any thought to Bluestreak's lack of curiosity. It had actually been a bit of a relief, because while he had long ago outlined what he would say and how he would explain what had happened when or if Bluestreak ever brought up Praxus, that didn't make it a conversation he relished having. But Bluestreak hadn't asked, and Prowl thought nothing of it because, quite frankly, he had about a dozen more pressing and time sensitive assignments he needed to monitor and complete in any given joor.

But…

Should he have realized something was off? Had Bluestreak been giving signs that Prowl had missed, or chose to ignore because he didn't have time? Did he give the impression that Bluestreak had to wait until Prowl spoke to him before he could say anything? Did he, by his actions, teach him he was not allowed to initiate anything with Prowl, and that it all had to be one way? Did he impress upon him that there was nothing he had to say that was important enough to warrant Prowl's attention in the midst of his busy schedule and duties?

Did he fail him _again_?

A small but sharp pain bit the inside of the back of his head, as it usually did when Prowl's thoughts started running in circles with nowhere to go. He took the hint and stopped all thoughts, giving himself a quiet moment to compose himself again.

This wasn't helping anyone. It would be more productive to bounce his thoughts off of someone else. Someone who was familiar with the situation, who might have picked up on something he himself missed and be able to bring new observations, a fresh perspective. Someone who would take his concerns seriously and help allay them, or come up with a way to tackle them.

Jazz.

No, he had his own duties. Prowl shouldn't be selfish and pull him away from that. Then again, he did to go put Bluestreak down in his quarters. If Jazz was still there, perhaps Prowl could catch him, just for a moment or two to help clear his head. He trusted Jazz's judgment above almost anyone else's, and there wasn't anyone else he could think of he would rather discuss something this important with.

oOoOoOo

Thirteen joors straight of surgery later and Socket was fully prepared to crawl under the nearest table and stay there for the rest of the deca-orn. But their efforts paid off – the patient was alive and stable, albeit comatose what with all the chemicals they had to pump him with, and being monitored by a half dozen sensitive machines as his body rested and recalibrated themselves to integrate the new parts and repairs the three medics had poured into him.

"We could've built a whole new mech with the materials we used to save your aft," Socket joked.

The patient had no comment.

Ratchet had left orders for Socket to monitor the patient and to call him if there were any changes before Patch practically pushed him out the door to get some recharge already. Slagging workaholic. The only reason Ratchet agreed to go lie down at all was because Socket and Patch kept insisting they could smell burning wires every time the CMO walked past. That, and because Ratchet made a deal with Patch that he'd go get some recharge as well. Considering that Patch had been swaying slightly on his feet at the time, he wasn't in a position to argue.

So with a cursory reminder to update the twin mechlings on their older brother's condition whenever they got back, Socket was left alone in the med bay.

Humming an old tune to himself, Socket picked up a hand-held injector and slipped a vial of green liquid into the slot on the back, pressing down until it snapped in with a hiss and a click. Satisfied, he turned back on the unconscious red and white mech on the table. With practiced ease Socket used his free hand to unlatch, flip over, and slide back the multitude of armor and dermal plating layers that protected the more delicate internal systems.

Socket always liked this part best. The fiercest, strongest, biggest mechs, absolute nightmares on the field and nigh untouchable to the common rabble, yet in a mere handful of clicks Socket exposed their deepest vulnerabilities. Their strength meant nothing against the medic's superior skills and finesse. In this moment, he held the power to harm or heal as he saw fit.

It was a heady sensation, almost addictive sensation. One he doubted Ratchet or Patch would approve of.

Once the fuel tanks were exposed, Socket hefted the injector up as he traced a finger along the tanks seams, feeling for a good injection site. But he froze when he felt a shudder pass up through his digit.

"What was that?" he wondered aloud.

It was all the warning he ever got.


End file.
